One for the Ages
by Pandorama
Summary: After "The Book of Abby" - Pretending everything is normal, even if neither of us are fooled, is probably right at the top of the list of things that have screwed us up in the past.
1. The Book of Love

**Author's Note:** Many thanks to Essy for betaing and Bree for letting me bounce ideas/thoughts off of her while simultaneously refusing to tell her what I was actually writing. Thanks also to the wonderful powers that be/were for letting me take their characters out for one more joyride. Not that they actually know or care, but still. Grateful all the same.

To clarify, this is going to be a multi-chapter piece. Updates will most likely be at my usual snail's pace.

This chapter picks up immediately after "The Book of Abby" ends. The story title and following quote (which inspired this story) are from Jed Whedon's song of the same name, the chapter title is from Peter Gabriel. Reviews srongly encouraged.

_"It's a fresh start, or a sad ending..."_

* * *

><p><strong>"The Book of Love"<strong>

There's this overwhelming sensation, as we pull away from the ambulance bay, of how much we're leaving behind here – the memories, the people, the history – and at the same time what's in front of us. I don't say anything for a while. I can't, really, since there's nothing that can really be verbalized. Instead, I watch out the window even after I can't see County anymore, until we pull onto Lake Shore Drive, and Luka breaks the silence. "How was it?"

"It was…" I sigh. "Your typical Thursday, I guess." He smiles at that. "I all but gave some kid the go-ahead to off himself, I freaked out at the nurse's disciplinary board, I bit the new chief's head off, and somehow, everyone but Morris found out about me leaving without me saying a word."

"Sounds like County to me." He smiles, and I sort of have to wonder at what point things like that stop sounding ridiculous and start sounding mundane, and if it's something we should worry about.

"I'm going to miss it." I toe off my shoes and throw my headband in the back seat. It's going to be a long ride. "I never thought I'd say that, but…it's true."

"I know."

I rest my head sideways on the seat so I'm looking at him, and think maybe I underestimated how hard it was for him to choose to leave. "Haleh showed me something."

"Hmm?"

"There's this wall, where they stick all the magnetic name plates from our lockers. She caught me trying to make off with mine, and so we went and she had me put both of ours up there."

He frowns. "Both of ours?"

"Yeah."

"I just would have figured…I don't know, maintenance would have taken it down by now."

"Yeah, well…someone got to it before they did."

"I see." He reaches his hand across to lie on my leg, and I slide mine under his and lace our fingers together. Luka nods to the rear view mirror, and I turn around to see Joe fast asleep and drooling down the front of his shirt. "Think he'll sleep through the night?"

"You're joking, right?"

"You should sleep, too."

"I will." I squeeze his hand. "Once we're past Chicago."

His thumb strokes mine, and I do think he gets it, how big this is for me, leaving Chicago – I've been here half my life. It was the first place I ever really felt like I was home, with him and Joe in our apartment, and even though it used to be his place, with other women, from the moment we brought Joe home, it never felt like anything but ours. I don't know how long it's going to take for Boston to feel like that, but I keep reminding myself that it doesn't matter where we are, as long as it's us – me and Luka and Joe.

That's my home – wherever they are.

* * *

><p>I wake up and for a second, don't know where I am. It takes a minute or so to get my bearings, and I ask Luka through a very unladylike yawn where we are.<p>

"Indiana."

"Can you be a little more specific?" I squint out the window, but there aren't any signs. It feels more than a little disconcerting.

"About a half hour from South Bend, I think." He shrugs. "I'm just doing what the GPS says."

I stretch in my seat and turn to look back at Joe, who is still very much out. "Bored?"

"I'm okay. I was enjoying listening to both of you talk in your sleep."

"I don't talk in my sleep." I'm losing count of how many times I've said that, now.

He smirks. "Right. I forgot."

I jab him lightly and reach into the back where he put a cooler full of drinks and snacks and pull out a bottle of water. "Want anything?"

"Cup of coffee would be good."

"I can take over for awhile if you're tired."

"Nah, I'm fine. I'll let you know, though." He reaches out and I pass him the water bottle. "Maybe in an hour, we can stop for gas and switch."

I unfasten my seatbelt and prop my feet up on the dashboard. He gives me a look. "What?"

"Put your seatbelt back on."

"Luka."

"Please."

"I'm a grown woman, you know." I put it back on, anyway. "God, this reminds me of when I was a kid and Maggie would pack us up and we'd drive until she found someplace she thought looked good. She'd always say 'this feels like home' and it would drive me nuts."

"I promise not to say 'this feels like home' when we get to Boston."

"Cambridge."

"Right. Cambridge."

"I don't want to be one of those people who says 'Chicago' when it's not actually Chicago. Or Boston, in this case."

Luka gives me a funny look. "Why does it matter?"

"It just…does. You probably used to make fun of people who said they were from Dubrovnik when they were from some smaller town nearby."

"I never did, and I don't think anyone would do that."

"I'll bet you they did. You were just too cool to pay attention, because you were _really_ from Dubrovnik."

He just shakes his head, and I get the impression that this is one of those things about Americans he'll never get, along with the home shopping channels and comic book conventions. "Want to play 'I-Spy'?"

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"It's dark out, for one thing. And for another, we're not ten."

"Okay, so, the license plate game."

"How do you even know what those things are?"

"I don't know. I think…Alex?"

I roll my eyes. "I always said that kid was trouble."

"Oh, come on. It's fun. It makes it go faster."

I stay quiet for a few minutes, hoping he'll give up, but he keeps glancing at me with that earnest expression he has that is damn near impossible to say no to. "Fine. I spy something…I don't know. Um…dark?"

"Hey, if you're not going to take this seriously – "

"I'm taking it very seriously. I spy something dark."

"That's not a color."

"Well, I'm sorry. My options are kind of limited to 'dark,' 'pitch black,' and 'the moon.'"

"Fine." He sighs. "Is it…the car in front of us?"

"Nope."

"Okay…is it…the car next to us?"

"You know, you don't seem to be taking this very seriously, yourself."

"It's hard to narrow it down without something more specific."

I yawn again. "Okay, dark and…handsome."

He grins. "Is it me?"

"No."

"Come on." He gestures out the window. "You can't see any other drivers to know if they're handsome or not."

"That's true."

"So how – oh." He chuckles softly. "Can you even see Joe? I think you have to see the thing for it to count."

"Side mirror."

"I see." He seems amused. "Okay, I spy something…" He looks around the car conspicuously. "Brown."

"My hair."

"How did you know that?"

"You looked right at me before you said it. It was sort of obvious."

He looks a little put out, and I don't know whether to find that ridiculous or adorable. A little of both, maybe. "What did you and Eric used to do?"

"Hmm?"

"When you were driving, I mean."

"Oh. I mean…when he was a baby, I used to read to him in the back to keep him quiet. When he got a little older, we'd play cards, Go Fish and Old Maid and that kind of thing. Sometimes we'd make a list of things and whoever spotted them out the window first won."

"What kinds of things?"

"You know…silly stuff. A cow, a factory, a billboard, whatever. He'd always cheat, though, and say he saw it while I was looking the other way."

"Niko used to do that – it wasn't a game, but when we'd ride the train with my father, he'd always say he saw something while I wasn't looking. Once he said he saw a green chicken."

"A green chicken?"

"Yeah." He shakes his head. "I was convinced there were green chickens roaming the country, after that. I kept trying to find one."

"How long did it take you to figure out they didn't exist?"

He glances at me. "Actually, they do."

"What? No they don't."

"That's what I thought, so I bet him fifty dinara he couldn't show me one."

"And?"

"I lost fifty dinara, and Niko had to spend the next three weekends helping our grandfather on his farm as punishment for painting that chicken."

* * *

><p>We get to the motel outside of Toledo just after one in the morning and I get in the shower while Luka deals with Joe, who burst into tears for no apparent reason as soon as we got out of the car. By the time I get out, Joe is quiet and just on the verge of falling asleep on Luka's shoulder.<p>

"Here. I'll take him, you shower," I whisper. Luka nods, and passes Joe to me who barely notices, just burrows his head into my neck.

I rub his back for a few minutes and go to put him in his portable crib, but, of course, he clings to me and sort of howls in protest, so I lay down on the bed with him and recite _The Very Quiet Cricket_ from memory, which does the trick. I don't realize I've fallen asleep, myself, until I open my eyes to see Luka reaching over me for Joe.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he murmurs as he climbs in next to me.

"S'okay." I roll over so I'm pressed against his side, my head on his shoulder, and he moves his arm around my waist. It's been this thing, since he moved back in, both of us needing to be close to each other, physically. Making up for lost time, or maybe just subconsciously realizing that life is short and wanting to make the most of it. Whatever it is, there's been a lot of touching, purposely brushing against each other and holding hands and more than one shared shower that had nothing to do with being green. And some less innocent stuff – I think since we broke through that particular barrier that night it came crashing down on the both of us how long a year is and how much we've missed one another.

He kisses my head, very gently, and I can feel his breath on my cheek. "I set the alarm for seven."

"Okay."

"I can take the first shift, if you want." He makes little circles on the small of my back.

"You're a very good husband, you know that?"

He chuckles. "I try."

* * *

><p>Luka makes good on the offer to take the first driving shift, although my plan get some extra sleep ends up being abandoned in favor of sitting in the back with Joe, who is pretty put out to be shuffled out the door and straight back into his car seat at an hour when he'd normally be wearing his breakfast and watching Elmo and Big Bird. After a solid half hour of Joe wailing and refusing to be placated by books or toys, we end up pulling off at a strip mall and Luka goes in and comes out fifteen minutes later with a portable DVD player and a stack of <em>Sesame Street<em> and Disney movies.

"We probably should have thought of that sooner," I point out as we get back onto the highway. Joe is happy and quiet in the back clutching the player and looking a little bit glassy-eyed. It's not that I like the idea of sticking my child in front of a screen to keep him quiet, but if I have to choose between that and ten hours of trying to keep him entertained on the road, this seems more humane for all involved.

"Think we can re-wrap it all for his birthday?"

I shrug a little. "I don't think he'll really care as long as he gets to rip the paper off of them." Especially if we shove everything in a box big enough for him to crawl inside. My son likes cheap thrills.

"We should try to go tomorrow to get his bed."

"Mmm." Joe's impending big boy bed is still not a subject I'm totally comfortable with – we agreed that it didn't make sense to move his crib to Boston when he'd need a new bed soon anyway, so we ended up donating it to the same women's shelter where the furniture from Luka's…whatever it was….went. They were beside themselves, which was great, but I still haven't really come to terms with it, myself. It feels too fast, I guess.

I thought for a minute or two there, when we were talking about it, that we were going to have to get into the whole issue of whether we should still have one around, just in case one wasn't actually enough, but I'm not sure it even occurred to Luka, which for whatever reason, I don't know, I guess confuses me. And stings just a little. I mean, I know he said one was enough, but for whatever reason I never really thought we'd officially made that final decision. And it's not that I necessarily want another baby, I guess part of me just needs to feel validated somehow by Luka wanting that with me.

All of which is, of course, completely screwed up. Still, though – I guess at some point we'll have to talk about it, considering it falls into the category of wants and fears and neuroses that don't do much good being buried. Right now, though, I'm trying to just work on actually talking to Luka about the things that are going on in the present, like Joe growing up at an alarming rate and moving to a new city and starting a new job.

Baby steps.

"Promise me if he begs for a race car bed, you're not going to make me be the bad guy who says he can't have it."

"Why can't he have a race car bed?" I can see worry lines on Luka's face, like this is extremely troubling information.

"Uh…because they're ridiculous and completely impractical?"

"As long as he can sleep in it, how else is it supposed to be practical?"

I'm starting to get the impression he wants a racecar bed of his own. "He's two. Ideally, we can get him a bed that will last him for a long time. Like, with detachable rails, or something."

"Rails?"

"To keep him from falling out in his sleep."

"He needs _rails_?"

I take the coffee cup from the center console and take a sip. "Yes. They make beds that are adjustable to grow with the child. It makes more sense than getting him a plastic toy to sleep in for two years before he outgrows it."

"He won't outgrow it."

"He's already tall for a preemie. Which means he takes after you. In two years, he'll probably be taller than me."

Luka rolls his eyes, but he reaches over and squeezes my knee. "I think you've got at least ten years before that happens."

"Still."

"Okay, fine – no race car bed. We'll get him a practical bed with rails and adjustments and whatever else."

"It just makes more sense that way."

"Yeah, you're right. It's fine."

We drive in silence for a few minutes, except for the sounds coming from Joe's movie, and I sneak a look at Luka, who seems strangely…I don't know. Disappointed, maybe?

"Did you _want_ to get him a race car bed?"

"No." He shrugs. "I just…I wanted to get him whichever bed he wanted."

It takes a minute to register what he's actually talking about, but I get it, finally – he wasn't there, last year, for Joe's birthday, and considering it's this weekend, the bed was going to be his present, something to make Joe happy. Something special.

"If he really wants a racecar bed…I guess it wouldn't be the worst thing." I rub Luka's shoulder a little, and he leans against my touch very slightly, like he knows I get it. "Sensible can wait."

* * *

><p>"I've never been to a national park," Luka announces when we stop for lunch.<p>

"It's not a national park. It's a state one." I take Joe out of his car seat and manage to pry the portable DVD player from his hand, despite his protests. "You can have it back after lunch, okay? We're going to have lunch now."

"Buzz," Joe counters.

"Buzz and Woody will be here after lunch. Park now. Come on, Froggie wants to look at the lake." I take the stuffed frog from where it was squished between Joe and the car seat. Poor thing was clearly deemed inferior to technology.

"Froggie?" Joe looks mildly interested.

"Yup. Froggie wants to go to the park." I hand him the toy.

"Okay," he concedes with a little sigh. Luka grins, clearly amused by the dramatics.

We follow signs to a picnic area, and Joe is clearly over _Toy Story_ in favor of the wonder that is nature. "Peanut butter or tuna?" Luka asks Joe.

"Chips."

He shakes his head. "You can have chips after your sandwich. Do you want peanut butter or tuna fish?"

"Chips!" Joe squirms around in my arms and I set him down on the bench and raise an eyebrow at Luka, who should know better by now than to be offering a choice, since Joe will invariably choose the third, unapproved option.

He gives me a sheepish look in return and then unwraps a tuna sandwich. "Here. When you finish, you can have chips."

"Now chips!" Joe pushes the sandwich away.

"I think maybe you were right about those terrible twos," I inform Luka and take a peanut butter sandwich for myself.

"No kidding." He looks back at Joe. "Okay, I'm going to eat the tuna, and Mommy is going to eat the peanut butter. So no more sandwiches."

"Chips?"

"Nope. We're going to eat the chips because we had our sandwiches." Luka takes a bite of tuna.

"All the chips," I add.

"Share chips?" Joe eyes me, like he knows I'm the weaker prey, more likely to cave.

"Nope. No sharing. Not unless you eat a sandwich."

"Tata share?"

I can see Luka struggling not to laugh, sort of hiding his smile behind his sandwich. "Nope."

Joe looks back and forth between us a few moments while we eat, like the little wheels are turning. Neither of us says anything for a few minutes, and eventually he tugs on the sleeve of my shirt. "Sandwich."

"Sandwich what?"

"Sandwich please." He looks a little defeated.

"Tuna or peanut butter?"

"Fishy please." 'Fishy' is Joe-speak for tuna fish. I glance at Luka, and he just grins.

Yeah. We've got this parenting thing down.

* * *

><p>I'm really starting to feel it by the time we reach Albany – the exhaustion of driving fourteen hours on six hours of sleep, the monotony of the scenery, the stiffness of being in the same position for so long. Joe is blissfully asleep after an afternoon tantrum – not that I could blame him, I mean. Being a toddler and being stuck in a car this long has to be awful, and I was having serious regrets about this whole road trip idea, even if it is more practical in terms of getting the car and our basic necessities from Chicago to Boston.<p>

Luka, for his part, is holding up better than either of us. He says something about being comfortable with it given his childhood riding trains, but I also think it's that he has a lot more patience when it comes to these things. The journey is the reward sort of stuff, I guess.

Right now, heading into hour ten of the day and hour three of being behind the wheel, I'm working at not holding that against him.

I glance over at him, sleeping with his mouth open, snoring just a little, and I can't really help smiling. He's really very cute when he sleeps. Or, okay, he's always cute, but when he sleeps, there's this sweet sort of quality that he exudes. Angelic, I guess. I assume that's where Joe gets it, because I've been told more than once, by more than one person, that sleep very fitfully and almost like I'm pissed off.

He shifts in his sleep, and I have this memory, of the first time I ever woke up next to him, after that night I went to his hotel room. It's one of those things I remember perfectly, not just the details, but the feeling, because I felt this very distinct and sort of jarring combination of absolute safety and terror at once, waking up with his arm draped over me. I think the terror part had something to do with how good it actually felt to be there, and I was not exactly a trusting individual back then and still sort of scorched Earth in the aftermath of the divorce. I think waking up and feeling a warm body next to me and actually feeling connected to him was disconcerting, because I wasn't expecting to feel something for him and I did.

Someone in the next lane honks, and Luka wakes up with a sort of grunt, and rubs his eyes before assessing me. "What?"

"What?" I counter.

"You have that look on your face."

"What look?"

He yawns. "Like…I don't know how to say it in English. Like you're remembering things."

"I have a look for that?"

"You have lots of looks," he murmurs.

I laugh a little. "Uh-huh."

"It's true." He touches my arm gently. "So was it a good one?"

"A good what?"

"Memory."

"Oh." I shrug, and for whatever reason I'm a little embarrassed. "Just…thinking about when we were first together."

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking about how it felt the first time I woke up next to you."

He smiles. "Good, I hope."

"Good." I glance at him. "A little scary."

"Scary?"

"It was…I don't think I expected to feel the things I did. I hadn't felt them for anyone in a long time."

"Yeah." He looks down, and then back up at me, a little smile on his face. "I didn't, either."

"Plus…I mean…" I shrug. "I was also disconcerted by…you know…the sex."

He looks a little alarmed. "What? Why?"

"You…um…don't go getting an inflated ego or anything, but…certain things hadn't happened a while."

"Certain things?"

I roll my eyes. "Come on, Luka."

"I really don't…" He blinks. "Oh. _Oh_."

"Exactly."

"Wait – you really hadn't…"

"Richard and I barely had sex the last year of our marriage, and when we did, it was not particularly enjoyable." Passionate, yes – there's was hell of a lot of passion derived from the anger both of us were hanging onto, but angry sex is not particularly conducive to pleasure, at least for me.

"I didn't…realize that."

"I didn't think it was something I should really announce."

He's quiet for a few minutes, and then glances at me expectantly. "What made you come that night?"

I give him a look. "Um, the usual things, I mean – "

He laughs. "Sorry, I meant…bad choice of words. I meant to my hotel."

"Oh. That."

"Yeah."

"I was worried about you. I didn't know where you were, and I just…I wanted to make sure you were okay. I mean…I kept trying to call you, but you never answered. And you didn't show up for work, so I…was worried."

"Why?"

"Because…because I cared about you."

He shakes his head, and he has this look on his face like he almost doesn't believe me. "I thought…I figured you would be better off without me."

I sort of wish we weren't trapped in a car right now because this is one of those moments where it's difficult not to be able to kiss him. I take his hand, instead, and twine my fingers with his. "I wouldn't have been."

* * *

><p>I'm asleep as we pull onto our street, and Luka wakes me gently. I look out the window, just trying to take it in. It has a weird sort of familiarity to it, even though I've only been here once, briefly, when we came here to look at places a few weeks ago. There are flowering trees on some of the lawns and nice cars in the driveways and a few houses have toys in the yard – it's all very suburban, and I feel almost like I should be creeped out by how Stepford it seems but I'm not.<p>

Instead, it feels somehow…I guess almost peaceful, like shelter in a storm. Like part of me recognizes, on some level, that this is a fresh start, in a lot of ways. We're not burying the past, or trying to forget, but…something else. Moving forward, maybe. Like we're finally opening a new chapter, after trying so hard for so long to stay in the one we're familiar with. And even though I feel like I should be scared out of my mind, all I can think about is that I'm so overwhelmingly grateful to be here, with Luka and Joe.

We pull into the driveway – our driveway – and Luka reaches over and squeezes my hand. "We're here."

"Yeah," I murmur, and squeeze back. I look at it – our house – for a minute, just taking it in. I've never owned a house. It makes me feel grown up, in a weird way.

Eventually I look back to him. "I'll get Joe."

"No, I can…" He trails off, looking sort of lost.

It takes me a minute. "You're not carrying me over the threshold, Luka."

"How did you – "

"You had that look on your face like you wanted to do something silly and romantic. We're already married. I can walk."

"Yeah." He shrugs kind of sheepishly. "Okay, you're right."

We sit in silence a few moments, just absorbing it, that we're actually here. That this is home.

I remember the moment we walked into the apartment in Chicago with Joe, it just felt…I don't know how to describe it. Warm, comfortable, I guess – all the things that a home is supposed to feel like, except I hadn't felt that way before. It just felt…right, somehow. Like I was finally right where I wanted to be.

I look at the house in front of us and try to imagine it'll feel like that, soon.

I take off my seatbelt and lean across and he gets the picture and meets me halfway, kissing me back, one hand on my knee and the other in my hair. "Welcome home."

He leans his forehead against mine, his nose pressed against my cheek, and I can feel his eyelashes on my temple. "Welcome home, Abby."


	2. Happiness

**A/N:** Many thanks to Melissa for filling in as beta this week. Essy - that means I had better get a decent review this time. Speaking of which, thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter - those thoughtful, specific reviews really make my day. I'd love to get the same level of feedback for this chapter.

I see no real reason to post disclaimers over and over, since no one even remotely in touch with reality thinks I actually own these characters. If I did, I wouldn't be driving a 17-year-old car and renting an apartment, let alone posting stories on this site.

* * *

><p><strong>"Happiness"<strong>

I wake up to the sound of birds. Real, live birds. Not construction, or the neighbors fighting, or car horns, but _birds._

It's a little bit disconcerting, to be honest.

I feel Luka shift beside me and I turn to face him. "Morning."

"Morning," he murmurs, and he props his head up on his hand, this little smile playing on his face. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like I spent the last two days driving across the country." I yawn. "I don't think I like this whole suburban wildlife thing."

"We'll get used to it." He slips his hand under the covers and I shiver a little when I feel him grasp my waist.

"What time is it?"

His arm curls around my hips and tugs me towards him. "Early."

"We should probably try to go back to sleep."

He looks at me a few moments and his eyes do that thing where the color seems to change just a little. "Or…we could see how durable the air mattress is."

I lean up to kiss him and am almost immediately interrupted by a howl from down the hall that sounds like a cross between a cat being skinned and my name. Luka groans.

"I'll get him." I smirk at the look of absolute dismay on his face. "When the bed gets here…tonight. We'll christen it."

He sighs and rolls out of bed. "Yeah. Okay, that's…probably…"

"More romantic?" I raise an eyebrow.

He nods and runs his fingers through his hair and I can tell by the look on his face he's not particularly placated by the thought. Not that I'm particularly thrilled, either, but priorities and all.

I go down the hall to Joe's room and he's standing up in his portable crib looking utterly forlorn until he sees me, and then gives me what I have to imagine is the most pathetic look in the world and holds up his arms.

There's something about picking up a needy child first thing in the morning that makes what he interrupted seem inconsequential in comparison. I know, biologically, it releases the same kind of chemicals, the ones that make you warm and fulfilled and happy, but I'd like to think it's more than that. Some deeper connection that makes holding him close such a perfect feeling.

* * *

><p>We spend most of the morning unpacking and trying to keep Joe out of trouble, although once a sizeable collection of empty boxes has collected in the living room, he's pretty much occupied. The movers come just after noon with the big things, and I let Luka deal with them and feel all manly or whatever it is heavy lifting does for the male ego.<p>

I'm in the kitchen trying to find the box with all the pots and pans so I can make Joe macaroni when I hear footsteps behind me. I'm all set to turn around and ask Luka if the bed has been moved in yet and get a very distinct whiff of body odor and what I'm not proud to be able to identify as malt liquor.

"Whoa." I whirl around to find one of the movers sort of leering at me, and I'm not sure whether to be horrified or a little bit pleased with myself – I mean, forty is approaching a lot faster than I'd really like, and so it's a little bit nice to still get that look once in awhile, but still. I decide he's not nearly attractive enough for me to feel anything but uncomfortable. "Can I help you?"

He says something about wanting to know where the fridge should go, and I give him a look that I hope translates as "look at me like that again and I'll cut your balls off" and remind him that it should probably go where the outlet and the giant refrigerator-sized space are located.

He skulks away and I track down Luka to inform him of what just happened. He looks kind of amused, and just shrugs. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know…professionalism?" After all, it says so right on the truck.

"You're hard not to look at." He rests his hands on my waist and I get that tingly feeling and wish the movers would get the hell out so we could finish what we started this morning. "It's not really fair to expect them not to."

"Are you trying to flatter me?"

"No. I'm telling you the truth." He pulls me a little closer, so I have to crane my neck up to look at him.

"Well, he's creepy. He probably stares at anything with breasts."

"Mmhmm." Luka just rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that's why."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Never."

"Good. Because then I might have to take back the offer to christen the bed tonight."

* * *

><p>By the time we head out to get Joe's bed, both Luka and I need a nap. Joe, of course, is bouncing off the walls after having spent a very fulfilling morning turning about three-dozen empty boxes into his own personal condominium complex. Or fleet of spaceships – I'm not really sure what they were supposed to be, I just know he was wandering back and forth between them all and was very meticulous about personally inspecting each and every one. I briefly had this horrifying vision of the movers clearing out all the boxes and taking him with them, but when I relayed this fear to Luka, he assured me that it wasn't even a remote possibility and maybe I needed to lay off the coffee for awhile.<p>

I have to admit I'm a little relieved when Joe does not make an immediate beeline for the racecar bed. Instead, he immediately goes for the bed with the amusement park ball pit attached to it that costs six thousand dollars. I glance at Luka, and his expression very clearly says that he's not _that_ indulgent.

"How about this one over here?" I try to direct Joe towards a very reasonable model with rails and expansions and all that sensible, boring stuff.

He looks at me like I've just grown a second head. "No."

It occurs to me at that moment that maybe, just maybe, letting a two-year-old be a part of this decision was an incredibly stupid idea.

Luka clears his throat. "Look, Joe. It has steps to climb up."

"No."

Fantastic. I look at Luka, who appears to be thinking the exact same thing I am, which is that we should scrap this plan completely, get some ice cream, and order the thing online.

He makes another clearly unenthusiastic attempt. "How about a blue bed? Huh?"

The look Joe gives him makes me proud for just a second, because he clearly learned it from me – the "you have got to be kidding me" look reserved for concepts like blue beds and asking if I'd like to help cook.

"Not one of my better ideas," I mutter. Luka just shrugs. "Want to cut and run?"

The moment the words leave my mouth, this sort of exuberant, rapturous expression appears on Joe's face, and I follow his gaze to what, in all honesty, I really should have noticed the moment we walked in.

He takes off running, and I let Luka chase after him and try to mentally prepare myself for the fact that we're going to be taking home a rocket-shaped, bright green Buzz Lightyear bed, complete with wings for the headboard.

The thought of Luka having to put it together – which was the deal – helps slightly. The gigantic grin on Joe's face and the corresponding one on Luka's help significantly more.

* * *

><p>I drop Luka, Joe, and the green mutant bed at the house to start on construction while I go to the grocery store for the basics – diapers, milk, bread, and so on. We'll go back tomorrow, and Luka will pretend it's so that he can carry the heavy things and not that I'm completely untrustworthy when it comes to grocery shopping as I have tastes roughly as advanced as Joe.<p>

I come back to the sound of shrieking laughter, and the refrain of "to infinity and beyond" echoing down the stairs. I sneak upstairs as quietly as possible. It's this sort of fascination I have, watching Luka and Joe together when they think they're alone. It's not that they act differently when it's just the boys, but there's just this focused connection, without a third party, and I know I'll always have a unique connection to Joe, but there is something distinct about a father and son together.

Luka has Joe suspended in the air, like he's flying, and Joe is doing the Superman – or I guess Buzz Lightyear – pose and smiling so wide I can see every one of his teeth, even from the doorway. It strikes me, not for the first time, how much I wish Eric had gotten that. I had Eddie for a good part of my childhood, and it was probably harder for me when he left because I'd been used to having him around, but I think Eric was robbed of something even more than just a parent. It makes me wonder, once and awhile, if maybe things would have turned out differently, if he'd had that. If that trigger in the genes that turns bipolar from a latent threat into a reality would have been switched if he'd had someone in his life like Joe has Luka, or like Luka had his father.

"Mama!" Joe spots me before Luka does. "I fly! I Buzz!"

Luka grins and lets Joe down onto his bed. "Easier than the crib."

"Uglier, too."

"Oh, come on." He nods to Joe, who is hopping up and down on the mattress. "It's not that bad."

I pick Joe up before he manages to give himself Shaken Baby Syndrome. "Want to take a bath while Tata cooks for us?"

He shakes his head vigorously. "Fly more."

"How about we give flying a break and try swimming?"

I get a very suspicious look. "Swim?"

"Yup. Just like…" I rack my brain for any sort of aquatic character that might garner support for the cause.

"A penguin," Luka supplies.

I give him a blank stare. "What?"

"You know…in the water. Penguins like to swim."

"I don't think he knows what a penguin is, Luka." Joe's expression confirms that I'm right, and he has absolutely no idea what the hell we're talking about.

"Okay, a frog then."

"Froggie?" Joe perks up.

"Yes. Frogs like water and land. Just like people." Kind of. But I doubt seriously that Joe is going to draw a distinction between humans and amphibians.

"Froggie swim too?"

I shrug. "Sure. He could use a bath, anyway."

* * *

><p>Not surprisingly, Joe barely makes it halfway through dinner before he starts drooping dangerously close to his plate. I'd sort of been expecting something significant when we put him to bed, whether it was some sort of resistance to not being in a crib or both of us tucking him in, but instead, he ends up asleep before we even get up the stairs. I lay him down and pull up the covers and just look at him for a few minutes before Luka puts an arm around my shoulder and leads me downstairs to finish our own dinner.<p>

I don't even realize I've been silent the whole time until he's loading the dishwasher and I'm just sitting at the table, trying to work out what it is exactly I'm feeling. He pulls his chair up next to me and just takes my hand in both of his and squeezes it very gently. And I know he gets it, what I'm feeling. Not just the idea of him growing up, but that this is it – there's not going to be another baby – and the guilt associated with that and feeling like I've somehow let him down.

I have no idea how I know he gets it, but I do - the way he rubs his fingers over mine, and just sits there with me, quietly, and eventually he leans his head against mine and kisses my temple. There's no uncertainty about it. He doesn't need to ask me why I'm quiet. I think maybe that's the biggest thing that's changed in our relationship in the past few years, even with all of the struggles we've had, the ability to read each other. It's not all the time, and there are still gaps, but I think when it comes to Joe, and to our relationship, we've come to a point of mutual understanding, of what our respective insecurities and desires and thought processes are.

He moves his hand from mine and runs it through my hair. "It's hard, realizing they'll never be a baby again."

I think of Marko and Jasna, and how they'll never be adults, either.

"It doesn't – we could have another, if that's something you want. I know we haven't talked about it…I'm not saying that's something I need, but…" He trails off, and I know as much as he gets it, knowing what to say is another story.

"I have no idea if that's something I want." I look at him, for the first time. "I know that right now, it's not a decision I want to make. Not just because of the program, but…I want us to just be us, for a while. And that's enough for me. If in…I don't know, a year…we can talk about it. Figure out if it is something we want. But for now…"

"Just us is good."

I nod. "I…I don't even think right now it's rational. This whole thing, him growing up – it screws with a person. Like pregnancy hormones or something. It's just…overwhelming."

"I know." He smiles a little. "I think it's one of those things."

"One of what things?"

"You know…things women have in common. Danijela went through it, too. I get it, but…for me, I don't mind it. I like that he's growing up."

I lean into him a little. "You just can't wait until he's old enough to play sports."

He chuckles. "Maybe. But – it's also fun, learning what he likes, who he is. The things about him that are more like you, or like me."

"Yeah." I roll my eyes. "Although if this Buzz Lightyear obsession turns out to be short-lived, I wouldn't mind."

"It could be worse."

"True." I suppose I ought to be glad he likes a character that's wholesome and law-abiding and wants to save the universe and all that. And at least there are no obnoxious noises or theme songs involved.

"So," he says after a few minutes of silence, "I was thinking…about that whole…christening the bed thing."

"Were you now?"

"Mmm. I mean, if you're still interested…"

I close my eyes and breathe in, like I have to think very hard about this decision. Not that I'm fooling either of us, but I can't appear to be too easy, now. Granted, I'm not doing a very good job of keeping a straight face. "I suppose I could be amenable to that."

He moves his hand so it's resting on my thigh, just high enough so it's not inappropriate, but it's not innocent, either. His fingers are long enough so they're resting on the inside seam of my jeans, and I can feel my heart rate picking up. "Just amenable?"

"Maybe…a little more than amenable."

He leans over so I can feel his breath on my neck. "How much more?"

I clear my throat. "Enough that we should go upstairs or the kitchen table will move up on the list of things to christen."

There's not a lot of fanfare after that – he pulls me up from the table so fast my arm nearly comes out of the socket, and he slows down a little after that, but not much. There are some times, like that night a few weeks ago after I'd opened up about my past and so did he, when it's slow and emotional and almost painstaking, and that's beautiful, it is – but then there are also times when slow and emotional is, well, very slow. And it's not as though it's only physical, because there is an emotional connection and love between us, but it's also of a more, shall we say, carnal nature. And I'm really very content with either one. Or any of the others in between, actually.

It's not the same sort of frenzied, desperate sex that happens early on in a relationship when, say, a person might forget that they failed to take a birth control pill or two that week and extra protection is the furthest thought from their mind – not that I'm anything but grateful for that little slip in judgment. And I don't care what anybody says about relationships still being red-hot after so many years, or how much I love Luka, or how unbearably attractive he is, that phase does go away, and while it reemerges once in awhile, for the most part, we've moved beyond that particular style. And I'm fine with that – it was nice while it lasted, but it also led to a lot of complications, not just pregnancy, but a number of disapproving stairs from neighbors whose doors were being used as makeout stations and bruises from accidentally crashing into a table en route to the bedroom and the demise of one very expensive skirt. And, honestly, I'm okay with not having that same desperation, or at least the same kind, because we connect in a different way, now. It's a different kind of intensity, a different high. Not better or worse, but – okay, actually, better. Because that whole bit about making love with someone you actually love being a hundred times better is true.

I'm extremely grateful that one of us – him – had the foresight to make the bed right after it was delivered, because even if we're not in the sex-crazed honeymoon phase anymore, we're still capable of building a significant amount of heat on the trip from the kitchen to the bed. And it would really suck to have to stop to put sheets on it.

I don't know if it's against furniture-christening protocol, what happens next, or if it counts as long as some kind of sex is being had, but I have no intention of complaining. And I don't think he does, either, when the tables – or bed, I guess – are turned. Of course, I'm nothing if not thorough, and I suggest to Luka that we ought to cover all our bases, for luck and all, and he seems more than willing to comply. Repeatedly.

The thing is – we may have gotten to a point where there's some level of patience and decorum on the way to the bedroom, but that doesn't mean things don't escalate once we actually get there.

I lay there, afterward, draped over his chest, not saying anything. Neither of us do – he just runs two fingers up and down my back, over and over, and I listen to his heart pounding in his chest, and it occurs to me that maybe he's right about the whole "everything happens for a reason" thing. It's idealistic and normally too much blind faith for me, but at the same time, it's almost incomprehensible, all of the random events that had to transpire for us to end up here, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally – even just the most minute things, like forgetting my birth control or the little girl dying on the night she did and me coming over to his apartment, or how if Brian had never hit me I wouldn't have gone over to Luka's and realized that, broken up or not, he still cared about me. How, if Carter hadn't decided to go back to the Congo for the reasons he did, Luka might be dead. And how, if Luka hadn't been able to take that leap of faith that I couldn't and okay the treatment, Joe might not have made it.

It's just that everything, the mistakes and the obstacles and the circumstances, had to have happened in such a way that I would be here, in bed with my husband, happier than I really ever imagined or expected I could be.

"Luka," I whisper. His heartbeat and his breathing have both slowed down.

Apparently he's still awake, though, because he mumbles something in the realm of an affirmation that he's listening.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For…" I don't quite know how to sum it up. Except, I guess maybe I do. "For finding me."


	3. Parachute

**A/N: **Obscene amounts of gratitude to Essy and Melissa for betaing this one. Cookies for you both. And cookies to anyone who gives me a substantive review. I would say something about not leaving reviews made up entirely of text speak, but then Essy would inevitably leave me one just to irk me, so I'll refrain. Instead, I'll just put it out there that if there are any shenanigans, the kitten gets it.

* * *

><p><strong>"Parachute"<strong>

We take Joe to the zoo for his birthday. He's damn near off the walls as we leave, and I have to admit it's kind of infectious, and I find myself getting sort of excited, too. Not because we're going to the zoo, but because it's Joe's birthday, and this is the first time we're celebrating it as a family.

It takes about twenty minutes to get there, which is roughly forty-seven verses of "Old McDonald" and we go through every animal we can think of and then Luka starts making some up. I keep it to myself that it's going to backfire big-time when we get there and Joe finds out they don't have a wafflesaurus.

"Should we bring the stroller?" Luka asks when we park.

I shrug. "Joe, do you want to walk?"

"Lion!" He practically ricochets out of his car seat as I unbuckle him.

"Okay, do you want to walk to see the lion or ride in the stroller?"

"Walk lion!"

I can't stop an image from forming in my mind of Joe with a lion on a leash. "Okay. We'll walk."

Luka shrugs. "If he gets tired, we can just trade off."

I think we've both reached a point where we've resigned ourselves to perpetually making the wrong decisions when it comes to this kind of thing, and that there's a sort of Murphy's law when it comes to the outcome – if we bring the stroller, he won't want it, and if we leave it, he'll get tired and we'll have to carry him around for the entire time. It's not even worth worrying over anymore, and I tell myself it'll be good exercise and I'll just be preemptively burning off whatever unhealthy thing I pay seventeen dollars for at the park restaurant.

We head to the lion exhibit first, and the lions seem to get that it's a special day, because they're out pacing in plain view and one of them roars obligingly, prompting Joe to shriek in utter delight, which would be much more adorable if I were not holding him at the time, and had he not done so directly in my ear.

I give him a pass on it, though, because it is his birthday, after all.

We head to the reptile house after, and I'm not particularly comfortable lingering in there, which Luka knows, but Joe wants us to lift him up to see absolutely everything, of course, so we do. He's breathing heavily on the glass of some behemoth python or cobra or something and I feel something brush my ankle and scream and jump about three feet before I realize it's just Luka messing with me. He's almost doubled over laughing, which of course sets Joe off into a fit of giggles, and everyone in the place is looking at us, naturally.

"You suck," I whisper to Luka, who is still gasping for air, the asshole.

"I couldn't help it!"

"Again!" Joe claps his hands. "Again!"

"Not unless Tata wants to be lion food," I tell him, and Luka keeps laughing as I carry Joe outside.

"I'm sorry," he says, when we get outside, and I put Joe down so I can compose myself. "I just – your face – "

"Oh, shut up." I give him the dirtiest look I can manage. "You know I hate snakes."

"Abby." He puts an arm around me, and I consider staying mad, but I can't. I really can't – he makes it impossible, between the goofy smile and his laugh and the fact that I really kind of love his immature streak. "I'm sorry."

"You're buying me ice cream."

"Sure." He grins and looks at Joe. "Want some ice cream?"

Joe gives him that look again, like, what the hell do you think? "Yes."

"Yes…" I prompt him.

He sighs, like putting up with my incessant need for manners is very tiresome. "Yes, please."

Luka looks at me. "Mommy?"

Part of me hates when he calls me that, because it's cliché and quite frankly I find it incredibly obnoxious when other parents do it – although they tend to do it seriously, whereas Luka at least recognizes the hint of sarcasm in calling me that. And the other part kind of relishes it, because I am one, and it's nice to be reminded of it now and then. I smile and push a stray strand of hair off of his forehead, letting my fingers linger just a little bit. "Yes, please."

The rest of Joe's birthday is more low-key – we have a _Toy Story_ marathon and Joe opens his presents, which, as expected, pale in comparison to the boxes and wrapping paper, except for the Buzz Lightyear doll. I manage to make something resembling a cake without any assistance or incidents, and Luka grills on the little hibachi we had from Chicago. It's all very subdued and, well, normal, but I don't actually mind in the slightest. This whole functional family business is starting to grow on me.

There's a measure of something - not sadness, really, but emotion – that sort of hangs in the air, and I know Luka feels it, too, from the way he looks at me and the way he looks at Joe. I probably have it, too. It's hard, remembering that day, two years ago, and how terrified we were and how close we came to losing him.

We've talked about it, before – the feelings we share about that day. There's a lot of guilt, for both of us – for me, it's regret that when I told the guard something was off, I didn't think to protect myself and my child just in case, and the decision to work through my third trimester, which I was certainly healthy enough to do, but it still put me in a risky position. Guilt over how I resisted the magnesium and complained about how it made me feel. And less reasonable things, too – guilt that I couldn't somehow protect him, and the feeling that I could have done something, anything, different, to avoid the abruption.

And for Luka's part, I know a lot of the guilt is tied in with what happened in Vukovar, and being absent – even though he was forced to be – when we were in danger.

It's not so overwhelming, though, that it takes away the happiness of the day. Joe is alive, and he's healthy, and that's all that matters. He will have health problems because he was a preemie and because of the trauma, but so far, they're very minimal – his motor and speech skills are a little delayed, and he has bronchopulmonary dysplasia, although it's improved a lot over the past year. As far as the complications go, he is beyond lucky, healthier than I could have hoped.

I stand in his room, just watching him sleep, for a long time after he falls asleep that night. Luka comes in after almost half an hour, and wraps his arms around me, and we just watch him, together, and I know he feels the same way, so incredibly grateful that our son is okay.

* * *

><p>I'm scheduled to start work on Monday, and so we try to make the most of the weekend. We take Joe into the city to ride the swan boats, which he loves, although not nearly as much as he loves the train. A couple of our neighbors come over on Sunday to introduce themselves and bring food – bread, salt, a casserole, brownies – and it becomes apparent that we've kind of hit the jackpot because there are at least two teenage girls of babysitting age and a couple of toddlers Joe's age in our neighborhood.<p>

I'm lying awake in bed late Sunday night, trying to remember all of the possible atypical presentations of renal failure when I realize I'm talking to myself out loud, and Luka rolls over with a bemused expression on his face.

"Can't sleep?"

"No." I sigh. "I'm too freaked out."

He smiles a little and I feel his hand close over mine under the covers. "You're going to be fine."

"I just…" I sigh and scoot myself a little closer to him. "I feel like I'm going to screw it up."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because. Because…it's what I do. I get all nervous and then I screw up."

"You're nervous that you're going to screw things up because you're nervous?"

"I know it's stupid."

His fingers trail up my arm until they reach my cheek and he cups my face in his hand. "So stop worrying. Then you won't screw up."

"Luka."

"I know." He smiles again. "You're cute when you worry."

"Thanks." I roll my eyes and go to turn over.

He stops me. "Hey. You don't need to be nervous. You're a great doctor."

"You're biased."

"Doesn't mean it's not true." He puts a hand around my waist and pulls me up against him and I automatically throw one of my legs across his waist so I'm halfway on top of him. He rests his chin on the top of my head and I can feel his breath on my scalp. "You want to review anatomy?"

I laugh a little. "I don't think that's the sort of thing they'll expect me from me."

"I hope not." His hand slides under the hem of my shirt, his fingers a little bit cool against my back. "Especially on your first day."

"Mmhmm." I'm not really listening to him anymore, though. His other hand is being very distracting.

"Still…better safe than sorry."

"I'm supposed to be up in six hours." I don't make any move to disengage either of his hands, though.

It's pretty clear he's not taking my objection seriously, either, when he rolls me over onto my back and tries to undo the tie on my pajama pants. He mumbles something that's muffled by my neck.

"Hmm?"

He looks up at me. "I said, how do I get these off?"

I roll my eyes at him and demonstrate, and he cocks his head. "What's the point of a tie if they just slide off?"

"You really want to get into that right now?"

He seems to consider it for all of a nanosecond. "No."

"Good."

* * *

><p>One of the drawbacks to having a toddler is that he's old enough to get out of bed on his own but hasn't quite learned the concept of knocking. I wake up to Joe pulling my hair in an attempt to climb onto the bed and have to ask him to hand me my shirt. I guess we're going to need to trouble-shoot this situation, at some point. Luka, for his part, looks very smug about having gotten on his pajama pants under the covers, but I quietly remind him that it's a lot easier for him given that only one of us has a habit of flinging clothing halfway across the room, and it's not me.<p>

Joe settles himself comfortably between us and looks from me to Luka almost like he has an idea of what we were doing right before we fell asleep. "Hungry," he announces.

"Why don't you and Tata snuggle for a little bit while I get dressed, and then I'll make you breakfast?" I figure I'm only fifteen minutes early for the alarm, so there's no real point in trying to convince Joe we should all go back to sleep.

"No snuggle." Joe shakes his head. "Hungry _now_."

"I got it." Luka slides out of bed and picks Joe up. "You get ready. Want eggs?"

I nod. "Thanks. And – "

"Coffee, I know." He grins, and eyes me in a flirty sort of way like he's proud of having kept me up last night.

"Coffee yuck." Joe leans his head against Luka's chest and suddenly I feel a little sick, thinking about how wonderful the past week was and how much less I'll get to see them both starting today.

Luka takes him downstairs and I get in the shower and try to distract myself by reciting mnemonics, and when I've run out of those I start in on dosing conversions. I'm still going when I get downstairs, which earns me a look from Luka. "Fifty milligrams of what?"

"Never mind." I make a beeline for the coffee pot but he stops me and holds out a mug.

"Already put in your sugar."

"How did you know – "

He shrugs. "I heard the shower go off and I know how long it takes you to get ready after that."

I don't know why that makes me feel a little tingly inside, but it does – I guess the fact that he pays close enough attention to my morning routine to know, but then, it really shouldn't surprise me, since I know his routine, too. And that's kind of nice, that level of intimacy, without it being boring or cliché or anything.

Look at us – the picture of domesticity. If someone had told me three years ago that this would be my life, I'd have ordered a psych hold.

I eat my eggs and toast and drink my coffee while Luka works on getting the oatmeal from Joe's breakfast cleaned up – which one of these days will translate into Luka remembering that he can't read the paper while Joe eats oatmeal – and pretty soon it's seven and I'm feeling sort of sick again. "I should go," I tell Luka, and he looks and me and I know he knows what's going on in my head right now.

"Hang on a minute." He disappears upstairs and comes down again holding something behind his back and looking pleased with himself. "Here."

The briefcase is black leather and has my name on it and clearly cost a fortune. I don't quite know what to say to that, so I just go ahead and kiss him, and he smiles against my lips and brushes my hair off my neck. "Thank you."

"I meant what I said, Abby." His hands cup my face. "You're a great doctor."

I don't say anything back, just kind of swallow against the lump in my throat and try like hell to believe him.

* * *

><p>"Hi. I'm Abby Lockhart, I'm supposed to start as an attending today."<p>

"I'm Rena." One of the women reaches her hand out, and I shake it. "I'm an R2. This is Magda, our nurse manager," she gestures to the woman next to her, "and that's Teddy, my med student, who needs to stop cherrypicking patients." She points to a young man flipping through charts, who looks up and gives me a guilty smile. She turns around and shouts to a nurse who is adjusting an IV. "Where's Cavanaugh? The new attending's here."

"In a trauma." The nurse comes over and seems to size me up before holding out her hand, as well. "I'm Claudia."

"Abby." I shake her hand and smile.

"Teddy can show you where to put your things before he gets back to being a pain in the ass," Rena tells me. I can't tell if she is just joking or actually loathes her med student. I've definitely had some I wanted to kill, so it's hard to know.

I follow Teddy to the lounge, and he points out all the important things like the fridge and the coffee maker and I put my things in an empty locker. "Don't leave food in the fridge without your name on it, and don't leave it in the fridge overnight even if you do put your name on it," he tells me. "The night staff will eat it. So will the residents."

"What about med students?"

"We behave ourselves for fear of Dr. Cavanaugh skinning us alive."

"Which she is liable to do if you don't step it up, Mr. Price," comes a voice from the doorway. A woman walks towards me – she's probably in her early fifties, with her hair in a chignon and a look on her face that is almost contradictory, because she's smiling, but there's a hint of ferocity in her eyes. "I'm Kim Cavanaugh, the head of the emergency department at MGH."

Teddy scampers away, looking like a dog with his tail between his legs. "Abby Lockhart."

She shakes my hand. "Nice to meet you in person, finally. Why don't we go to my office and get you started on paperwork, and then I'll show you around?"

"Sure." I follow her down a series of hallways and try to remember the way, because nothing is quite as embarrassing as getting lost on your first day of work, and she starts in on describing the emergency department procedures and the chain of command and so on, and by the time she stops for air, it's nine thirty and I really, really need to pee.

"Would you mind if I use the ladies' room before you give me the tour?"

"Of course." Kim – Cavanaugh – whatever I'm supposed to call her – smiles, and this time, there's no hint of wrath. I get the impression she's the sort of person who is genuinely nice and a fantastic person to have on your side, but not the kind of person you want to cross. Sort of like Kerry, which is what made her so good at her job. "I'll take you there."

I'm just washing my hands when her pager goes off, and she looks at it and grimaces. "Fantastic."

"Trauma?"

She nods. "How would you feel about scrubbing in? I can give you the tour after. This way you'll get a feel for how we work."

"Sure."

I follow her back to the ER and into the trauma, where Teddy and Rena and Claudia are already scrambling around, along with two other nurses and what I assume is an intern given the look of complete and utter terror on his face. "This is Dr. Lockhart," Kim announces as we walk in. "She's going to run the trauma."

"What?" So it's not the most professional response and I'm sure it's not winning me any respect in the room, but hey, not running away screaming is a big accomplishment, in my opinion.

"Welcome to Mass General," she tells me. "This is the deep end, and this is how you're going to learn to swim."

* * *

><p>I don't make it down to human resources to get my ID and sign the final paperwork until an hour before my shift ends. There's no mentality of taking it easy and learning the ropes the first day, save for the tour and Rena's kind allowance of her med student to be my personal shadow for the day. Teddy is actually pretty helpful, showing me where various things are, how the charting is supposed to go, and so on, and I do feel less lost with him there to help. It's fairly busy, but over the course of the day we chat a little bit, and I decide that while he does have a penchant for slacking and has no filter whatsoever between his brain and his mouth, he is a decent kid and I won't have to kill him, at least not right away.<p>

The majority of the people I meet are actually pretty great, although I have to look at most of their nametags or address them with, "Um, excuse me," given that there is absolutely no way I can retain all of the information coming at me in the span of twelve hours. There is one nurse who doesn't seem to like me, despite my best attempt at a charming smile and warmth, but Teddy informs me that she doesn't like anyone, so I don't take it too personally.

I'm scribbling a few notes on the board when I hear Magda mutter something that sounds like "here we go again" and a male voice and footsteps come from behind me. "You must be the new attending."

I turn around to see a man in a lab coat and scrubs grinning just a little too much at me. "Abby Lockhart." I hold out my hand.

"A. J. Axelrod, but everyone calls me 'A-Rod." He winks at me, as he says it. Actually _winks._

"That's because everyone thinks you're an asshole,'" Magda says without turning around. "Leave the woman alone, she's married, and clearly smart enough that she's not going to fall for your bullshit."

"Yeah, I'm just going to call you 'Dr. Axelrod,'" I inform him. "I don't do nicknames."

He keeps smiling. "Whatever you're comfortable with, Abby."

"Dr. Lockhart."

His face falls ever so slightly. "Of course, Dr. Lockhart. And let me know if you need any help around here, I know it can be overwhelming."

"Scram, Ass Rod," Rena tells him, walking up. "No one called for a consult from the toxic personality department."

"Always a pleasure, Rena." He crosses his arms and they have this sort of stare-off for a few seconds, before he leaves.

"Sorry, I meant to warn you. He's very meticulous about tracking down every woman who sets foot in this place and trying to make them physically ill while simultaneously trying to sleep with them."

I shrug. "It's fine."

"Nothing about that boy is 'fine,'" Magda grumbles. "He needs to be sterilized and shipped off to a penal colony before he causes a mass outbreak of sleaziness."

"I take it he's not very popular around here?"

"Only with the youngest, dumbest med students, but they stop liking him once they realize he's not actually going to call them."

I roll my eyes. "Lovely."

"Don't be afraid to tell him to take a hike," Magda tells me. "He's like a small child. He doesn't get subtle. You have to spell it out for him."

"Thanks. I'll remember that."

* * *

><p>I'm exhausted when I get home, despite it being a relatively easy shift compared to a typical day at County. It's just a lot of information, and mentally draining – I'm sure it will get easier, but right now, I just want to shower and crawl into bed.<p>

I walk in to find Luka and Joe in the living room, reading. Joe is slumped against Luka with his sippy cup of juice looking like he's moments from falling asleep, but he looks a little more alert when I walk in and holds out his arms for me to pick him up, which I do, and he lays his head on my shoulder and I suddenly feel better. All of the anxiety and worry about whether I made a good impression and whether tomorrow will be even more tiring melts away, and I stroke his hair and breathe in the smell of baby shampoo.

Luka looks up at us and smiles. "How was it?"

"It was…" Joe moves his thumb up to his mouth and nuzzles his head into me a little. "It was good."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm. Long…but good."

He holds out an arm and I sink onto the couch next to him and lean against him. He kisses my forehead. "I saved you some dinner. I can heat it up, if you want."

"In a minute." I shift Joe a little, who is now completely asleep. "I just want to stay here a little while."

Luka rests his head on top of mine, and his fingers stroke my arm lightly. "We can stay here as long as you want."


	4. No Envy No Fear

**A/N:** Thanks to Melissa for substitute betaing while Essy is off catching me an ocelot. I mean...um...something not involving illegal import of wild animals. Hypothetically, though, I'd name my ocelot Spot and insist that he was my seeing eye ocelot so I could bring him to work with me.

To clarify with respect to the story, it would be late May/early June at this point, and no one would have any ocelots.

* * *

><p><strong>"No Envy No Fear"<strong>

I'm woken up on my first Saturday off by the phone. I groan, and feel around until I find the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello," a voice answers in a very familiar accent.

"Luka?"

"Uh...no. I am calling for him, actually."

I squint at the clock - seven thirty - which in my opinion makes my assumption that the Croatian accent belonged to my husband perfectly reasonable, since anyone talking to me that early on my day off had damn well better be the one I share a bed with.

"Hang on," I mutter. I throw on a bathrobe and slippers and shuffle blindly downstairs. No Luka, no Joe. I scuff my way to the back door and am almost blinded by the sunlight when I step outside, where, sure enough, Luka and Joe are sitting, Luka drinking coffee, Joe clutching his sippy cup and a soggy bagel. "Phone."

He looks at me, and it's clear he knows just how unhappy I am. "Who is it?"

"A Slav of some sort." I shove the phone at him and shuffle my way back upstairs and into bed.

When he comes upstairs two hours later with coffee, he looks thoroughly repentant. "Sorry about the phone call."

"I wished very bad things on whoever it was. I hope you don't mind."

He grins and sits on the bed next to me, one hand braced against the mattress so he's sort of leaning across me, with that affectionate look in his eyes that makes it a real challenge to maintain my state of annoyance. "It was a friend from Croatia. From medical school."

"That explains the accent, I guess."

"He lives in Boston, now. He works at Tufts, in the medical school."

"Oh?"

"There's a faculty position that just opened up. Half the time in the teaching hospital, half in the classroom. He wanted to know if I would be interested."

I take a sip of coffee and nod. "Are you?"

"I think so." He reaches up and pulls a loose thread off of my shirt. There's something oddly sensual about it. "I think I'd like to teach. I mean, not just in a hospital."

"Well..." I yawn. "Then you should set up an interview."

His bangs fall in his face, and I reach up to brush them away. His hair is getting long again, and there's a certain pleasure I get from just running my fingers through it, and the way my hands smell like him afterwards. "I was thinking Thursday. That way you'll be home with Joe."

"Sure. Speaking of which..."

"He's downstairs, building a rocket ship."

I gather from the look on his face that the construction materials are neither blocks nor spacecraft parts. "I guess maybe we should go downstairs before he takes apart the entire house."

"I'm sure he'll be fine a few more minutes." He gently pries the mug from my hands and sets it on the nightstand, and I let him. In the battle between caffeine and making out with my husband, the latter wins. I mean, it's close, at this hour, but ultimately I would choose this over just about anything.

I let the backs of my nails trail over his scalp and down to his jaw and shiver a little when he starts kissing my neck. He's sliding his hand up the back of my shirt when I get the feeling that we're being watched. And judged. Sure enough, I peek around Luka's shoulder to see Joe standing in the doorway, looking very put-upon. As in, how dare we have fun without him. I clear my throat and nudge Luka. "Good morning."

Joe ignores my pleasantries and marches up to the side of the bed and grabs my wrist. "Downstairs."

"Can you say good morning to Mommy?" Luka asks.

"No. Downstairs."

I glance at Luka, and there's this sort of shared exasperation mixed with amusement on his face that I imagine matches my own. Like, yes, this is frustrating in so many ways, but also exactly how I would like to wake up on any given morning - husband, followed by coffee, followed by petulant toddler who demands my attention. I don't know, maybe it's that Joe's cute enough that it outweighs the frustrating aspects, and I'm sure at least some of my annoyance is mitigated by the way he mirrors Luka's expressions with the same damn eyes I can't possibly resist. But I think it's also that reminder that he needs me and wants me, and that despite all of the fears I had going into this, I still haven't screwed him up too badly to feel that way.

* * *

><p>I go to a meeting on Sunday afternoon. I've been going a few times a week, each time to a different location, just trying to find one that feels right. So far I haven't really shared, just listened. It's the usual mix – the tragic stories and the ones that you can tell are only the beginning of the truth, the people that are just starting out and the old-timers who have been sober for decades, and the assorted folks who haven't hit their stride with the program just yet.<p>

This one is just women. I typically don't have a preference, but back in Chicago, when I was doing my ninety meetings in ninety days, I went to this one that was women-only a few times a week, and I liked it more than I thought I would. I guess it's easier to connect, sometimes. More shared experiences – relationships, motherhood, the reasons we start drinking.

I listen and sort of watch the others as they react to various stories and issues, and I get a similar sort of vibe to the one in Chicago – comfortable, almost. There are some meetings I've gone to where I've felt out of place, or where there were people that made me uneasy. I tend to avoid meetings with a lot of high-maintenance folks, the ones who still sound strung out and talk a mile a minute and their stories veer off in a thousand directions. It's not that they're bad people, it's just that they remind me so much of Maggie when she was manic that it makes my skin crawl.

This meeting is mellower. There are a few people who are a little jittery and tangential, but for the most part, there's a very Zen quality to it. Not like prayer circles and healing crystals, or anything, just…I don't know. Soothing.

When the woman running the meeting asks if there are any newcomers, I raise my hand, and when it's my turn I tell them my name and why I'm there and so on and that I'm still working on finding a meeting that feels right. And that come Friday, I'll have been six months sober.

There's applause, which still embarrasses me, but at the same time it's a nice acknowledgement. It's not five years, or even one, but it's a milestone, and to tell the truth, I'm proud of it. Seven months ago, I wouldn't have thought I'd be here. I didn't even want to think about the next day, let alone half a year in the future.

"I'm lucky," I say. "It's still..there are days I want a drink. But it's not unbearable, anymore. I have things in my life that are good, really good. I want to hold onto them more than I want to get drunk."

The meeting ends, and I'm struggling with an unfamiliar coffee urn when someone taps me on the shoulder, and a woman who spoke early in the meeting smiles and takes my cup from me and somehow manages to get coffee inside it. "We're due for a new one, one of these days," she tells me.

"Thanks." I open a couple of sugar packets and dump them in.

"This is a great group. I'm not trying to convince you it's necessarily the one for you, but if you want to come back, we'd be happy to have you." She holds out her hand. "I'm Jill, by the way."

"Abby." I shake her hand and then take a sip of my coffee.

She laughs wryly at my grimace. "That's our weak point."

"I wouldn't really call it weak. You could power a small Naval fleet with that." Considering I've gotten used to Luka's Turkish mud, complete with grounds, my inability to tolerate this stuff speaks volumes about the quality. Or lack of, rather.

"It helps if you cut it with water." She lowers her voice. "Caryn's a great group leader. Terrible barista. But no one has the heart to tell her it tastes like sewage."

We chat for a few more minutes, and I find myself feeling at ease with her. It's nothing deep, but still, there's a warmth and humor makes it easy to talk to her. As I'm heading for the door, she stops me and hands me a business card. "If you need to talk."

"Thanks." I tuck it in my purse.

"Any time." She smiles. "I mean that."

* * *

><p>My second week at work is a little easier than the first. I feel like I'm starting to gain my footing, and for the most part I know where things are and how the charting works and all that helpful kind of stuff, which makes it exponentially less nerve-wracking. Not to mention the fact that for the first time since I started college, I have a regular schedule that is actually conducive to getting a full night's sleep. I'm almost disoriented by the feeling of being rested when I walk into work in the morning, because I had sort of gotten used to the sensation that my head was going to cave in unless I immediately hooked myself to an IV of coffee. I mention this to Rena, and she looks at me with a spaced-out expression, her eyes half focused. "What's that like?"<p>

"It's a little bit terrifying," I admit. "I don't know what to do with all this free time I have now that it's not dedicated to refilling my coffee mug."

"You could always start smoking."

"Nah." I sigh. "Gave that up, too."

She nods slowly, and I don't know if she's thinking or getting ready to fall asleep. "You're kind of screwed, aren't you?"

"Apparently." I glance at the clock. The morning rush has slowed down for the most part and the influx of hopelessly naive working folks who think they can sneak in a quick trip to the emergency room on their lunch breaks won't start for another hour, and the patients I do have are all in various states of limbo - waiting on test results, waiting for IV drips to kick in, being subjected to poking and prodding from med students and residents, and so on. I shrug. "I'm going to get some air. I have my pager if anything interesting happens."

"Have fun." Rena yawns.

I head out to the ambulance bay and settle myself on a bench. It's not exactly peaceful out here, but I suppose I shouldn't complain, as the alternative is fluorescent lighting and the incessant beeping of monitors. It's kind of sad that when I pull out my phone, I can not only dial the number without looking, but I know exactly what I'm interrupting.

Sure enough, Frank picks up with his mouth full, sounding irritated. "County."

"You know, I kind of miss doughnut day."

"Abby?" I can actually hear the smile, along with the sound of him swallowing half a Krispy Kreme.

"How are things at County? Still keeping your head up?"

"It's doughnut day. I have to, or else one of those pre-teen med students will try to get at my breakfast."

"Oh, come on. They're starving and overworked, and you don't need five doughnuts all to yourself."

"Six." There's a muffled yelp in the background, which I'm almost positive is the sound of Morris' hand being slapped away. "Now that you're gone, I have an extra."

"You could always find a new doughnut buddy. I'm sure Neela would be happy to take my place."

He sighs, and I can't help but grin. "Nah, she's not as much fun. Besides, I think it's best if the tradition stays between us."

"Think of it as a preventative measure, Frank. One less doughnut to drive your cholesterol through the roof."

There's a pause. "I'll give it some thought. How's Luka and that kid of yours?"

"At home."

"Well why aren't you with them?" He almost sounds indignant.

"Somebody's got to earn the big bucks."

We chat for a few more minutes, and I tell him about work and reassure him that I don't like it anywhere near as much as County, and promise to send pictures of Joe and of the house, and then he passes me off to Morris.

"Abby!"

"Hey, Archie."

"How is the - what, Frank?" There's some mumbling. "What did you do to it?"

"Huh?"

"He gave me a doughnut," Morris whispers. "He never gives me a doughnut. I'm kind of afraid to eat it."

I laugh. "I told him to share."

"Oh." There's a pause and the sound of chewing. "How come he never listens to me?"

"Because you annoy him. And he doesn't trust redheads."

"So if I shave my whole head, he'll be nice to me?"

"Sorry. You'll always be a ginger to him."

I hear him sigh. "You sure you want to stay in Boston? I hear they're due for a big earthquake any day now."

"I'll have to take my chances."

"I'm just saying - I'm sure Anspaugh would give you your job back if you wanted."

It occurs to me that part of what I've been feeling since I started this job isn't just because it's a new job, or even because I'm finally an attending. There's this feeling like I have to prove myself, because they don't know me. If I screw up, I don't have any real credibility to fall back on. At County, I had a sort of safety net - people I trusted, who I didn't feel like I needed to impress. If I made a mistake, it was just that - a mistake. They knew me, they knew how hard I'd worked to get where I am. I don't have that here yet, and it scares the hell out of me to think that one wrong move could define me.

I sigh and look out at the ambulance bay. It's not that similar to the one at County, but still, there's a reassuring nature to it. The process is always the same - get the patient out of the rig, get them inside, and treat them. Not much bureaucracy when it's a trauma situation. I guess it's a little odd that I find solace in that, but I never really considered myself all that normal.

"I'll keep it in mind, Archie. I should get back, though. Tell Frank I said to share his doughnuts."

"I will. Take care of yourself. And say hi to Luka and Joe for me."

There's a tone in his voice I completely identify with - longing for things to stay the same, to be easy. I know he's still reeling from losing Greg, and there's a twinge of guilt that I left when I did, knowing how much he needed a friend. I clear my throat. "And find yourself a girl, Morris."

* * *

><p>The whole "well-rested" thing turns out to be short-lived. I get home from work on Tuesday night to find Joe in an absolutely horrific mood and doing his impression of a wounded screech owl, which Luka very tensely informs me has been going on since just after I left for work. By the time I've relieved him of toddler-wrangling duty to shower in peace, Joe has started rubbing his ear, and it's not like it takes two doctors to predict just how much our night is going to suck. Luka valiantly stays up with him since I have to work, but between Joe crying and me being neurotic and compelled to get up to check on him just in case Luka dozes off, I don't get a whole lot of sleep anyway.<p>

His fever is over a hundred by the time I wake up to find both of them sleeping fitfully next to me, and it's easier to just bring him into work with me than try to schedule an appointment. I'm somewhat reassured that his tests do not in fact reveal some rare, deadly virus and that it's just an ear infection, but it doesn't stop me from reminding Luka of about forty-seven different things to watch out for, just in case, while he stands there patiently and entertains my complete lunacy. He kisses my forehead and reminds me that he is, in fact, still a board-certified physician and capable of administering eardrops and baby Tylenol.

Joe still looks miserable when I get home, but he's at least suffering quietly. Given how quickly he crawls into my arms and the venomous glare he gives Luka, I gather his misery is more related to the injustice of being subjected to the eardrops than the actual ear infection. Luka flops down on the couch next to us, looking exhausted. "Your turn."

I look at him for a minute, his shirt all wrinkled, with a stain down the front that looks very much like he had a sippy cup of juice thrown at him, his hair messy, and there's this surge of grateful affection that's almost overwhelming. I lean against him, and he puts one arm limply around my shoulders and yawns. I think this sort of thing is what most terrified me, both when I was considering the prospect of having a baby and when he was in Croatia - having to deal with all of this alone, taking care of a child without someone else to bear some of the responsibility. There's this rush of panic, whenever Joe gets sick. I know logically that an ear infection is something very minor and treatable, but the vulnerability is almost overwhelming - if I don't handle it right, if I can't take care of him in the way he needs, if I can't comfort him. And it's exhausting, as well, partly because of the emotional vulnerability, but also, just the sheer energy it takes to deal with a sick child. I think if I had to do it alone...I guess I don't know. Maybe I could handle it, because I suppose I'd have to, but it would be hard. Really hard. And it's still hard, sometimes, even with Luka there, but the emotional support factor makes it exponentially easier.

I take one of Luka's hands with the one not currently holding Joe and lace my fingers through his. He sighs, and I can feel his breath on my scalp. "Thanks," I murmur.

"Hmm?"

"I mean...for today. I'm glad...I'm glad we're doing this together."

He kisses my head softly, and I know he's smiling even if I can't see it. "Me, too."


	5. All My Mistakes

**A/N:** Thanks to Essy for betaing. Smut warning ahead.

* * *

><p><strong>"All My Mistakes"<strong>

_"All my mistakes have become masterpieces." - Teitur_

We sort of barrel through June and into July so fast I'm surprised I don't have whiplash. Luka gets the job at Tufts, which is not a shock given that he's both qualified and connected, and starts mid-way through June. One of our neighbors gives us a referral for a nanny she's used before, and by the time we're both working, Joe has taken to asking if Jelena is coming every morning. Or rather, asking if "Nelaner" is coming, but the point gets across. She's a very sweet older woman from Russia, which is nice for Luka as there are apparently a number of overlaps between Russian and Croatian. It gives me a headache listening to them speak in a mix of English, broken Russian, and broken Croatian, but she cooks, so I get past it.

We stay home for the fourth, since Joe is too young to enjoy the fireworks downtown and Luka and I are both too sane to enjoy the crowds. There's a little neighborhood block party, which I'm not entirely excited to go to, but given that we're new and all, it's sort of required that we show up and pretend not to be incredibly uncomfortable with how _Leave it to Beaver _the whole thing is. Joe, for his part, is completely disloyal and is immediately won over by the bounce castle and kiddie pool. I'm a little relieved, honestly, when he drops his Popsicle and bursts into tears, as it gives us an excuse to go back home. It's not that our neighbors aren't nice, they are, for the most part, but I can really only handle polite conversation and discussing my long-term plans for potty training for so long. Joe crashes about eleven seconds after we get inside, and Luka and I curl up in bed and watch something lauding the patriotism of killing aliens, which doesn't hold my attention very well, and I end up falling asleep fully clothed and sitting up, leaning against him. I wake up the next morning with my jeans and shirt off and tucked in, and it's such a minute act, but sort of overwhelming in how sweet it is, which, needless to say, translates into a rather happy morning for Luka.

I kind of agonize over what to get him for his birthday, which is a week later, because not only is he impossible to shop for since he's too polite to ever specify what he wants, but I feel like it needs to be something meaningful, some tangible way of expressing to him how grateful I am that he's here and that he still loves me after everything and that I love him, too. I mention this to Neela one day while we're chatting on the phone.

"Well that's..." She pauses. "Impossible."

"I know. But something in the general vicinity would be nice. I can't just give him a tie, you know?"

"I'm sure he'd like a tie."

"That's the problem. He'd probably like anything I got him. I want to give him something...special."

"There's always naughty photos."

I laugh. "As special as I'm sure that would be, that's not what I meant."

"What if you got, like, a tattoo, or something?"

"You're really terrible at this."

"Then why'd you ask me? I was the one who wanted to send a bloody _poem_ to Michael."

"Good point."

"Speaking of which - what about a poem?"

"I'm hanging up."

"Fine. I have to get back, anyway. Kiss Joe for me."

"I will."

After torturing myself over it for a good three days, I bite the bullet and email Niko, asking if there's anything Luka has mentioned to him, or anything from when he was younger. I'm not all that surprised when he doesn't reply, as he's still not all that keen on me, given everything that happened. I understand, I guess, and I can't blame him for being angry with me, but it pisses me off a little that he won't even answer my email since the whole point is trying to do something nice for Luka.

I finally settle on a grill - it's not meaningful, but it is something I know he wants, so I appease my guilt by buying one that's more expensive and has more gadgets than is really necessary, and pay a small fortune to have it delivered while he's at work on Thursday.

I decide the least I can do if I can't think of the perfect present is to give him the perfect wake-up call, so I set my cell phone for twenty minutes before his alarm, put it on vibrate, and slip it under my pillow. I wake up the next morning and it's a really good thing he's a sound sleeper, because I'm not quite as silent as I'd like to be while I brush my teeth and change and preen for what I'm fairly sure is going to be a rousing success, pun intended.

I very gently slide under the sheets and get to work, and it takes a minute or so before his brain catches up to the lower half and I feel him jerk and hiss a couple of obscenities, followed by a questioning, "Abby?"

I ignore him because, seriously, who the hell does he think it is? And besides, I'm doing other things with my mouth at the moment. He seems to catch on and doesn't say anything else after that, although he's not exactly quiet.

It's pretty apparent that he's close, given that what started off as him gently stroking my hair is now a lot more like him attempting to completely rip it out, when the single most unwelcome sound at a time like this crackles through the baby monitor.

"Mamaaaaaa."

I hear the sound of things being knocked off the nightstand in an attempt to shut the thing off. A couple of seconds later, it proves to be moot, as Joe's voice carries.

"Tataaaaaa."

We both try, for about a minute, to ignore him and finish what we started, but certain people do not take kindly to being ignored, and Joe starts crying, and it becomes very clear that this isn't going to happen. When I slide out from under the sheets, Luka looks like he's ready to start crying, too. "Sorry."

"No...it's...not your fault." He looks agonized.

"I'll get him." It's sort of a pointless statement, since Luka is clearly not ready to move, and probably not in a particularly comforting mood.

Joe keeps up his sort of whining, half-real, half-theatrical crying until I step over the baby gate - which thankfully, he hasn't quite figured out how to climb, yet - at which point he breaks into a smile and holds his arms up to me. "Up."

"You're lucky you're cute," I murmur, and oblige him.

"Tata make cakes." It's not really a question, but rather informing me that Tata will be making pancakes if he knows what's good for him.

"Tata is taking a cold shower," I tell him. "We're going to have toast this morning."

"No toes."

"Yes, toast, unless you want the whole kitchen to catch on fire."

"No toes."

"Toast with peanut butter," I tell him. I've finally figured out that choices and two-year-olds do not mix well, and that unless I'm really in the mood for a tantrum, anything that leaves even the slightest room for discussion is a really bad idea.

"Tata eat toes?"

"Sure. We'll stick a candle in it and sing 'happy birthday' to him."

I take him downstairs and strap him into his high chair and put a bib the size of a tarp over him since peanut butter has a magnetic attraction to Joe, and by the time Luka comes downstairs – still looking extremely disappointed, but there doesn't appear to be any permanent damage – I've already finished my coffee and toast and have explained to Joe three times that no, not all birthdays mean he gets presents.

"Nice shower?" I pour him a cup of coffee.

"A little cold," he mutters.

"Well…I'll make it up to you tonight."

He eyes me, and there's this electricity to his gaze that gives me goose bumps. I've had men look at me before, but not like he does. Not with that kind of intense, penetrating desire, where I can almost feel him, and every single time he looks at me like that, my heart races.

Tonight is going to be fun.

* * *

><p>I manage to focus my energy on something besides how long it is until Joe's bedtime, as we have what is, in my opinion, on par with Chinese water torture: an interview.<p>

For a playgroup.

I loathe myself just a little for putting on a nice shirt and putting one on Joe, too, but I really do want Joe to be with kids his own age, rather than by himself with the nanny three days a week. I think I got all of my cracks about Stepford Wives and Wisteria Lane out of my system when I was complaining about it to Luka last night, but for good measure, I glance at Joe in the rearview mirror and tell him to be careful with his juice, lest it cause any mechanical malfunctions.

We pull up to a house that looks like it's straight out of a painting, with a lattice archway and a wooden bench swing and everything. I ring the bell, and about a minute later, it swings open to reveal what is definitely a woman, and not a robot, given that the last time I checked, robots didn't have mascara smeared across their cheek and a bright orange stain that looks a lot like Kool-Aid running down their shirt and dripping from their hair.

"Hi. You must be Abby. I'm Erika Reynolds."

"Nice to meet you. Is this a bad time?"

She sighs. "No, this is pretty much your standard Thursday. Come in."

We step into a very pretty foyer, or at least, what used to be a pretty foyer before what I suspect was a band of rogue toddlers got to it.

"Let me just clean myself off. I'm sorry – when we go downstairs, you'll want to keep your distance from the one with pigtails."

I make a mental note to try to schedule it so I never have to see whichever pigtailed child is behind the Kool-Aid.

She comes back, and we head downstairs to a carpeted basement, and are immediately confronted by a little girl with one blonde pigtail and one orange pigtail. I back up a few steps.

"Lily, please go back to the time-out chair," Erika says to her.

Lily eyes us all and purses her lips. "No."

"That's too bad. Now, you can either go back to the time-out chair, or you can help me clean up the juice you threw at me."

Lily glares at us all for a few moments and then bolts to a little plastic chair in the corner. "I don't like you!" she shrieks, but sits down.

"She's…feisty," I manage, and finally put Joe down, who just clings to my leg.

Erika rolls her eyes. "She's mine."

"Oh." I can't think of anything more polite to say.

"Don't worry. I haven't been inflicting her on other parents since she started in on this…demonic possession thing." She rubs her temples. "The others are watching a movie. We don't usually do movies, but I broke down."

"I don't blame you."

She crouches down and smiles at Joe. "You must be Joe. I'm Erika. Would you like to watch 'Finding Nemo' with the other kids?"

Joe looks at her a little suspiciously, and then up at me. I nod, which is apparently good enough for him. "Okay."

It takes him about four seconds to settle in, given that the presence of a neon orange fish somehow makes everything wonderful. "It's like catnip to kids. I don't get it," Erika tells me.

"I try not to question the miracles of Disney."

She laughs. "The other parents will be here in a few minutes, so you can meet them. It's all pretty simple – as long as Joe gets alone with the other kids, we just need a couple of references to make sure you're not in the organ trafficking business or pyromaniacs or anything."

She explains the rules, which aren't really rules so much as blatantly obvious things, like not sending a kid to the group if they have a contagious disease and not allowing random strangers to pick up the kids without written permission, and so on. Joe can come five days a week or one, but part of the whole playgroup thing is that all the parents have to take turns hosting it. I don't relish the idea of taking care of a gaggle of children that don't belong to me, but I figure it's a small price to pay for Joe to be happy and well socialized and all that good stuff. And if I really can't take it, I'm sure I can bribe a couple of the teenagers that live on our street to help me out.

The other parents trickle in, mostly women in their thirties who look respectable enough and not like they're going to throw a fit if their child's juice is not kept at a moderate 72 Fahrenheit. The kids all seem to match the parents – redheaded child with redheaded mother, black child with black mother, slightly strung-out looking child with slightly strung-out looking mother – and I'm starting to feel strangely self-conscious that Joe's hair is still on the light side, until a little Asian girl wearing a tutu and an argyle sweater flings herself into the arms of a very, very white man. Although, in all fairness, his tie is argyle. His shirt and pants, however, are both grey and impeccably tailored.

Thank god for the gay dads.

He's the first to greet me, while his daughter rests her head angelically on his shoulder and Joe twines himself around my legs and gives them both a suspicious look. "I'm Isaac. This is Isabella." He jostles Isabella. "Bella, can you say hi?"

Isabella gives me a coy smile and wiggles a few fingers daintily at me. I can't help myself. "Hello, Isabella," I say in a voice so saccharine I know if Luka were here, he'd be concerned for my mental health. But come on – she's precious. I look down at Joe. "This is Joe."

Joe offers one of his most innocent, wide-eyed expressions. "Say hello," I prompt him.

"Bok."

I can't be sure, but I'm pretty sure he can sense that his status as cutest child in the room is being threatened. "His father is Croatian," I explain. "He hasn't quite mastered what's English and what's not, yet."

Isaac and I chat politely for a few minutes while Joe and Isabella size each other up and continue putting on a subtle little show of just how adorable they can each be. By the time the mother of the red-haired kid comes around to introduce herself, Joe is really working it, and I pick him up to let him know I get the point.

I leave with a much more settled feeling about how normal the other parents are, even the one who looked close to a nervous breakdown. Having twin infants at home is, in my book, a free pass to look as strung-out and disheveled as you want.

I pause as I strap Joe into his car seat. He gives me a questioning look, like, can we get this show on the road? "What do you think? Are we play group material?"

He pries a board book out from the pocket of his car seat and gives it a long glance. "Okay."

* * *

><p>I'm struggling with the door, groceries, and a sleeping Joe when I hear the phone ring. "Shit."<p>

I wince. I've gotten better at watching my mouth, but there are more than a few slip-ups…daily. Luckily, Joe just grunts and burrows his nose further into my shoulder. I manage to shove the door open, drop the groceries in the hall, and miraculously manage to pick up the phone without waking Joe.

"Hello," I half gasp, half shout, into the phone.

"Hello? Is this Abby?"

I'm starting to get tired of idiotic questions – I live here, and as far as I know, I'm the only woman who does. And the only American who can speak in complete sentences. "Yes." I take a stab – there's only a few people it can be. "Niko?"

"Yes. Hello. Is Luka there, please?"

He sounds about as warm and friendly as ever, but I give it a shot. "He's still at work. He should be home in a few hours. I can have him call you when he gets home."

"Yes, okay. Thank you."

"Wait – Niko." I lay Joe down on a blanket in the living room that he has colonized as his napping spot. "How are you?"

"I am fine, thank you." He pauses. "You are fine, also?"

"Yes…I am. Thanks. Did you get my email?"

"Oh. Yes, I think I have forgotten to reply."

Forgot, my ass. I suck it up, for Luka. "That's okay. But I was wondering – did you think of anything he might like?"

"A little late, now, I think."

"I still have a couple of hours." I try to pretend he hasn't just insinuated that I didn't bother to get my husband a gift. "I already got him something, but I thought it might be nice if there was anything he missed from home that I could maybe find – some kind of candy or something."

"Something." He pauses, and I'd like to imagine he's thinking of something for Luka and not of all the words in Croatian that mean "bitch." "I cannot think of something. I am sorry."

"Okay. Well…" I'm all set to just let it go, try to keep what little peace there is, but I look at Joe, and I can't help but think of the way Niko looked at me every time I was over there and holding Joe – like I wasn't fit to hold him, to be his mother. I just kind of reach my limit. "Look, Niko, I know you're not a big fan of me, and maybe that's fair, but don't punish Luka for it."

"Punish Luka? I am not the one punishing him."

"Neither am I. I love him. I know that I hurt him, and that he's your brother and you need to protect him, and I get that – I have a brother, and if anyone hurt him…I'd hate them. But I'm doing everything I know how to never hurt him like that again, and to make him happy. That's why I asked you if you could think of anything. I'm just trying to do something nice for him."

He doesn't say anything for a few minutes, and I start to wonder if maybe he hung up, but finally he tells me to hold on. I hear talking in the background, and a female voice comes over the line. It sounds significantly more pleasant than Niko's. "Hello, Abby?"

"Ana?"

"Yes, Niko says you want the recipe for a cake?"

"Um…" I'm trying to figure out if it's an issue of miscommunication or of Niko knowing full well I can't cook and setting me up. I decide to play it cool. "Yeah. That would be great."

"Okay…let me think. I know his mother used to make something…I will ask Niko which." There's some more talking in the background, and I hear Niko's voice, loudly, and Ana replying with what sounds suspiciously like "fuck yourself," from what I can recall of Croatian obscenities. "It is…I don't know how to call it in English. _Štrukli_."

"Strudel?"

"No…we have strudel, also. This is…I will give you a recipe, yes?"

"Sure, that would be…great." I start looking up this _štrukli_ thing on my phone, in the meantime. There's more talking, and then I can clearly hear Ana say something that I can't understand, but the tone comes across, loud and clear. I decide I should really get to know her. "Okay, you have a, um, writing thing?"

"Mmhmm."

She says a lot of things, which I write down, without having any idea what half of them are, and then instructions, which also make no sense to me. I figure I might be able to figure it out online. There has to be some sort of Croatian cooking for dunces out there.

"Okay, so, you will call if you need help, yes?"

"Yes – thank you. I really appreciate it. I know Luka will, too."

"Give him a kiss from me. And to Joe, also."

"I will. Thank you, again. And please thank Niko."

I hear something in the way of a snort. "Yes, I will thank him. Goodbye, Abby."

I hang up and glance down at the list in front of me. Well, shit. This isn't going to be easy, but now I feel like I have to prove something, even if Niko never finds out I didn't follow through. I mean, I'm sure Luka would lie for me and say I did a fabulous job, but still – I was the one who said it was about doing something nice for him. I glance at Joe, still curled up in his blanket nest, and at the clock. We can probably make it back to the grocery store before the delivery people bring the grill, provided I don't actually have a nervous breakdown trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do with a kilo of ricotta cheese. Or where to find a kilo of ricotta cheese, for that matter.

I groan, as it hits me. There is one person I can call who can cook, and who isn't very likely to rat me out to Niko.

Unfortunately, she also happens to be my mother.

* * *

><p>By the time Luka comes home at half past seven, things have gone from a relatively normal, if slightly comical, day to a demented Vaudeville act.<p>

The grill, which I paid roughly the GDP of a small country to have shipped in time, arrives at six with a broken handle, at which time I was already elbow-deep in a bowl of cheese and egg and ever-so-slightly tired of Joe playing heavy metal ballads with the oven door and a metal serving spoon. I'm actually shocked I don't make good on the threat to burn down the department store from whence the grill came, and relieved that the delivery guy doesn't take me too seriously and call the police. Instead, he takes the grill back with the promise of a new, intact one tomorrow and no charge for shipping. Which is nice, and all, but not really helpful since Luka's birthday is today.

I resort to the only thing I can think of to salvage the day: lingerie. Unfortunately, prancing around in garters and a teddy in front of my two-year-old son is pretty much the definition of inappropriate, so I throw on a pair of jeans and for good measure, an apron, since there's something decidedly unsexy about ricotta on silk.

I somehow get all of the ingredients into a pan in such a way that it almost looks like food, although just barely. I'm glaring at the oven, willing it to preheat faster, when I hear the door open and close, and Luka's voice carries down the hall. "Hello?"

"Oh, shit." I look down at myself. Pretty much everything not covered by the apron is caked in a mixture of ricotta, egg, flour, and oil. Joe, always the helpful one, chooses the precise moment that Luka walks into the kitchen to miss his mouth and drop a spoonful of spaghetti with marinara sauce down his front.

At least we go together now.

Luka stands in the doorway, taking it all in, and then cocks his head to one side and frowns at me. "Are you wearing...an apron and lingerie?"

"And jeans and your dinner, yeah." I sigh. "You're early. This was supposed to be...less filthy."

"Filthy is good." He smirks and leans down to kiss Joe's head, and then mine. I'm guessing he couldn't find a clean spot on my face. "So...what is this? I already got a macaroni necklace last year."

"Ha-ha. I'm cooking. Sort of."

He furrows his eyebrows, and lifts my chin up with two fingers. "Cooking?"

"I wanted to do something nice for your birthday." I shrug. "Niko said you liked this thing. So I made it."

"You made..." He peers into the pan. "_Štrukli?_ You made me _štrukli_?"

"You can tell? I wasn't sure it was supposed to look like that."

"It'll look better once it's cooked. You really - Niko told you?"

"Or...Ana, actually. But Niko told her, and she gave me a recipe."

"You called my brother to find out what too cook for me?" He looks incredulous. I'm still more concerned with the fact that, instead of him coming home to the candlelit dinner and sexy lingerie I'd had planned, he gets a disaster of a kitchen, Joe in dire need of a bath, and me looking like I just lost a food fight. Apparently I don't do a great job of masking my unease. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just…" I gesture to myself and our surroundings. "You were sort of supposed to see the finished product, not…this."

He shrugs, and reaches around me to brush my hair out of the way. I feel a tug on the tie of my apron. "I kind of like it this way."

I give him a dubious look, and swat his hand away. "I can deal with this. Go…I don't know, read, or something."

"Come on, Joe." He slips off Joe's bib and hoists him out of his high chair. "Let's go have a bath."

"You don't have to – "

"Abby. Relax. I want to give him a bath, and besides, I think I should separate you two before the mess gets any worse."

"Aren't you the funny one?"

He just grins at me. I shrug, and hold his gaze while I tug a little more at the apron strings, and he eyes me in that same way he did this morning, like if Joe wasn't here, he'd take me here and now, right in the middle of the mess I made. I find myself waiting to let out my breath until he turns and heads upstairs with Joe.

And suddenly, it doesn't really matter that things didn't turn out perfectly, or that the thing in the oven probably tastes like Styrofoam, or that his brother doesn't like me – because Luka does, in such a way that I actually feel capable of being wanted.

* * *

><p>Luka puts Joe to bed after his bath, which I kind of planned on happening, not intentionally, but due to the rude interruption of his nap this afternoon, and I manage to make both myself and the kitchen look presentable. I mean, we're not going in <em>Better Homes and Gardens<em> anytime soon, but at least all the food is either in the oven or in the garbage, and not on me. Luka comes downstairs just as the timer goes off, and he sort of stands back with this amused look on his face while I take the pan out and somehow manage not to burn myself in the process of putting it down.

"You changed," he murmurs.

"I figured it was worth the extra laundry." I poke at the _štrukli_ with a fork. I'm not entirely sure what it's supposed to look like, but as it's not completely charred, it's at least something of an accomplishment.

I feel his hand on my waist and his breath on my neck. "I like the red."

"Maroon," I correct him. "Does this look right?"

"Mmhmm." His other hand is on my hip, now.

"The food, Luka."

"Oh, that." He peers around me. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but…it looks like food."

"Move over, Martha Stewart." I take a spatula out and hand him a plate. "Big piece or little piece?"

Apparently his confidence level only goes so high when it comes to my cooking, which I don't fault him for in the slightest. "Let's start with little."

"Wise choice." I cut myself a small piece, too, and sit down. "Well…happy birthday. Hopefully."

He smiles. "You didn't have to do all this, you know."

"I know. I wanted to." I glance down at the table, and then up at him. "I love you."

"I know," he says, very softly, the same sort of tone he uses when he says the same thing to me, before he falls asleep at night.

I watch him cut a piece of the _štrukli_ and I can feel myself getting just the slightest bit nervous as he takes a bite. It's hard to read his expression, but finally, he swallows. "It's good."

"Good?" I was really hoping for "edible," at best. "If you're just saying that to be nice…"

"Would I lie?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, seeing as you're polite, and I'm wearing something incredibly slutty."

"All the same. Try it."

I take a bite, and brace myself to be disgusted. I mean, even if does taste right, it's still Croatian food, which to date, I haven't had much of a record of enjoying. Luka starts to laugh as I realize that it actually does taste like…well, food. "Did I hit my head and wake up in a parallel universe where I can cook?"

"Apparently." He takes a more Luka-sized forkful. "Does this mean you're going to start making dinner?"

I bat my eyes at him. "There are many things I would do for you, but that's not one of them. Having Maggie coach me through the grocery store is not something I'd like to repeat."

"You called _Maggie_?" He looks stunned. Granted, as much as I've improved when it comes to keeping in touch with her, conversations with her are generally limited to times when I can zone out while she goes on and on about the yarn she found to make Joe a sweater with or the rabbit that lives in her back yard.

"Yeah. Oh - and apparently she's invited herself for Labor Day weekend."

He shakes his head and there's this sort of bemused, incredulous, lopsided smile on his face. I have the not-at-all-sudden urge to kiss him. "You're…" He trails off.

"Slightly crazy?" I supply.

"I was going to say extraordinary."

I'm not really sure how it is we get from the kitchen table to the counter after that, or, well, me on the counter and him trying to simultaneously unbuckle his belt, remove my underwear, and not knock my head into the cabinet while kissing me, only one of which is successful.

"Ow."

"Sorry," he pants. "Can you –"

"Yeah." I scoot myself to the edge and shift so he can get my panties off. "Please tell me Joe wasn't awake when you left him."

"I slipped him some Benadryl." He kicks one leg free of his pants and boxers.

"Luka!"

"Kidding," he mumbles, and then his tongue is in my mouth and I stop thinking about Joe and Maggie and cooking and everything except the feeling of him against me and inside me. It's desperate and impatient and more frantic than usual, and I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck and revel in the feeling of wanting somebody this much and being able to have them.

It's clear he's trying to be chivalrous and hold out for me, but I think between this morning and the lingerie and the fact that a working knowledge of anatomy lends itself to being rather adept with various muscle groups, he gives up on that idea. Which is fine, really, because I'm pretty tightly wound, myself, and come about a nanosecond later.

We stay there, a minute, him kind of leaning against me and the counter, both of us trying to catch our breath. I glance down at the oven dish about an inch from my thigh. "Dinner's going to get cold."

He follows my gaze and nods a little, and then lifts me off the counter. I make a sort of surprised squeak and wrap my legs around him. "That's the thing about food."

"Hmm?" I brush my fingers through his hair.

"Food – " I close my eyes as he kisses me, and he mumbles the rest against my lips, "- reheats."


	6. Full Moon Cigarette

A/N: Is it me, or is this fandom at the point where if it was a patient on the show, they'd be charging the paddles and shouting "clear"? Quick, someone administer 100 ccs of quality reviews and hang a bag of ship-specific fic. And call in a consult from George Clooney - I think he needs to give me mouth-to-mouth. Not for any real medical reason, I just think he should, for humanitarian purposes. He's into charitable causes, after all.

Thanks to Essy for betaing.

* * *

><p><strong>"Full Moon Cigarette"<strong>

It takes Joe all of two days to decide that the tutu-wearing girl from his playgroup is his new best friend. Actually, his exact declaration is that he likes Isabella as much as Buzz Lightyear, but in Joe terms, that's basically a marriage proposal. It's ridiculously cute watching them together – following each other around, sharing their snacks, that sort of thing – but whenever I tell Luka about it he just gives me a look like he doesn't quite believe I'm in my right mind. And I get it, I mean, I've never really been one to coo over how cute something is, let alone show a whole lot of interest in children that did not belong to me, but really – it's hard not to.

I'm sitting on the back porch, watching the two of them play in Joe's sandbox and build what appears to be either a scale replica of the Taj Mahal or a deformed turtle and simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the effort spearheaded by Owen, the redhead, to trap the neighbor's cat, when I hear the garage door open. A couple minutes later, Luka comes out onto the porch, squinting at the gaggle of children.

"You're early."

"Attending meeting was canceled. What are they doing?"

"Which ones?"

He sits down next to me. "The ones waving sticks at what's-his-name."

"Sylvester, I think. They're trying to catch it. The girls want to put a hat on it, and I'm pretty sure Owen wants to see if the tail comes off if you pull hard enough."

"Shouldn't we…stop them?"

"The cat's pretty fast. I don't think it'll be an issue." I lean against him. He smells like cologne and antiseptic and it's kind of alluring. "Isaac brought over a bunch of peaches to say thanks. They're in the house if you want one."

"Thanks for what?"

I cock my head. "Isabella's sleeping over tonight. We agreed like two weeks ago. Isaac's going out of town and his husband is on the road. Did you forget?"

"No." He runs a hand over his face. "I just…I thought it was next week. I'm tired, is all."

"I wonder why." I nudge him.

"Hey, I didn't hear any complaints." He smiles a little. "It's fine."

I rest my head on his shoulder and am sort of spacing out when he jostles me as he stands up. "Hey, don't put that in your mouth."

I see Joe attempting to insert a fistful of sand into his mouth. He pauses, and looks at Luka. "Why?"

"Because." Luka pries open his palm and dusts it off. "It's not food. If you're hungry, we have fruit."

"I wanna foot." Isabella stands up. "Please." It's nice for Joe, I think, that she's also a little behind in terms of language, because he tends to get frustrated around the other kids. It's also very amusing, because Luka hasn't quite gotten as adept as I have at interpreting toddler gibberish. I get a confused look.

"She wants fruit," I explain, and haul myself up to comply. By the time I get back with a bowl of cut-up peaches and apples, Luka is holding the cat protectively while Owen shrieks at him and one of the girls sobs. I can sort of vaguely glean that somebody bit somebody else, although it's unclear whether the cat was the attacker, the victim, or the innocent bystander.

We manage to get all of them situated and content, by some miracle, and Luka just sort of looks at me in disbelief. "I didn't realize it was like this."

"Please. The truly rotten one is home with a cold."

"_He's_ not the rotten one?" Luka nods to Owen, who is attempting to balance a chunk of apple on his nose like a circus animal.

"Nah. He's just...high-strung." I bite into a peach. "And a redhead. They're all a little…endearingly weird."

"I see." He puts a hand on my knee, and I automatically scoot myself a little closer to him. "Good peach?"

"Mmhmm. Want a taste?"

"Yeah." He very casually runs his thumb along the trail of juice dripping down my arm, and licks it. "Can it be nap time now?"

I giggle a little. I don't think I giggle around anyone but him. "Their parents should be here soon."

"That still leaves us with two problems."

I shrug. "We can always spike their juice."

* * *

><p>We're in the middle of dinner when my pager goes off, which both Joe and Isabella find absolutely delightful. I have to restrain them both from grabbing it from me. "Sh -" I catch myself. It's bad enough swearing in front of my own child, let alone someone else's. "Darn."<p>

Luka makes a face. "Work?"

"Yeah. Here." I surrender the pager to the investigative team. "Don't get pasta on it, please."

I call in and return to find that, naturally, my pager now has pasta sauce fingerprints all over it. "Shooting at a high school football game."

"I've got them. Go." Luka looks at me, and I can read it in his expression, knowing how difficult it's going to be tonight. Mass casualties are bad enough without kids being involved. I'd almost gotten to where it didn't affect me to the point of keeping me up the next few nights, and then I went and had a kid of my own. Now it keeps me up for a solid week.

I kiss Joe's head, and I don't know if it's an instinct or what, but he looks up at me with this face and I know he understands how I feel. Or at least senses it. "Night night," he tells me.

"Abby." Luka touches my arm as I walk past him, and I stop. "Be careful, yeah?"

I lean down - barely, of course, as his head is almost level with mine when he's sitting - and kiss his temple. "I will."

There's something reassuring about having someone that worries about me, about my safety. It's sort of like when he told me about Brian, about going to the bar after he'd seen what had happened – I mean, I'd had my suspicions, and I'd always sort of thought if they turned out to be true, I'd be upset, because it was the reason Brian didn't go to jail and I spent the better part of a year looking over my shoulder. But I don't know, I guess the part of me that was moved by how much he cared, that it affected him that much, even after what had happened with the mugger, won out. That even broken up, he went that far to try to defend me, even if I wasn't in immediate danger.

The night we went on our first date, I know what happened with the mugger wasn't about me so much as it was about Danijela and his kids. The look in his eyes that night wasn't angry, it was terrified. I think in that moment, he lost touch with reality a little, and something in him thought if he could defend me, he could change what had happened.

With Brian, it was about me. And the thing is, with the mugger, it was about love, his love for his family, and I think with Brian it was, too. People don't generally do that unless it's someone they love, and I know Luka wouldn't. He doesn't have a temper unless it's related to protecting his family – Ames, Brian, Moretti, whom he admitted not long ago to hitting that day he showed up at the ER. With Brian, as much as with the other times, I think that he did love me, and I'm not sure it was until that night that he realized it. I think that if things had been different for me, if I hadn't shut down emotionally, nothing happening while I'd been sleeping on his couch would have been a lie.

I run my fingers through his hair, which is also something strangely comforting to me. "I'll keep you updated."

"Okay."

I normally park at the subway station by our house and ride the T to work, since driving in the city is about as much fun as pulling out my own teeth, but given that it's probably going to be the middle of the night when I leave work, I brave the traffic. There are still a bunch of ambulances out front, and there's that sort of familiar roar of chaos, inside and out. Magda, the nurse manager, looks exhausted. "It's a mess," she tells me. "Five major traumas from the site and another three turned critical between there and here."

"Gang related?" I don't bother to put my things in the lounge, I just drop them behind the desk and grab a gown.

"Initially. The rest happened when people started running. Bleachers collapsed."

"God," I murmur.

"Abby." I see Cavanaugh coming through the doors with a gurney, flanked by two paramedics and Rena's med student, Teddy, who looks ghost-white. "Take this one. GSW to the abdomen with multiple fractures."

The kid is maybe sixteen, wearing a band uniform. "What the hell happened to him?"

"They were all jumping under the bleachers." A girl I didn't notice, wearing the same uniform and covered in blood, follows us. "He didn't jump fast enough. By the time he did…he landed wrong, and…" She starts sobbing.

"Are you hurt?" Teddy asks her, his voice sort of distant.

"It's his blood. He – he's my boyfriend."

"Teddy, show her where she can get washed up and get her a pair of scrubs." I glance at her while I'm cutting off the kid's uniform. "You'll have to wait outside."

"Come on. The doctors will take care of him." Teddy ushers her out amid protest, while one of the nurses cuts off his uniform. Within about ninety seconds it becomes blatantly obvious that this isn't going to be a happy ending. It occurs to me that someone, probably me, is going to have to explain to Teddy that things like "we'll take care of him" are not the best words of comfort given how often we can't actually keep the promise. It's sort of a fine art, and I think having been a nurse in some ways gave me a leg up in learning how to talk to patients' families.

We work on him for what feels like five minutes and five hours at once, and I don't realize until Teddy rotates back in from another trauma that I'm drenched in sweat from performing chest compressions. Cavanaugh comes in as I step aside and let Teddy take over compressions, and looks around the room. She seems to know everything just from the scene, not that it's all that subtle. I look down at myself, and I realize that I'm covered in blood. "How long has he been down?" Cavanaugh asks quietly.

"Forty five minutes," one of the nurses tells her.

I think the hardest part of being an attending is that they all look at me next, because I have to make that call. It's absolutely terrifying to have that power, to say when. To actually give up on the prospect of saving a life. I look at the boy's face. His lips are blue around the edges, and his skin matches the sheet he's lying on. "Stop," I tell Teddy.

He does what every single med student and intern I've ever seen, worked with, or been does – he keeps going, and glances around, like someone is going to reassure him that I don't really mean it.

"Time of death – "

"Wait," Teddy interrupts. "That can' t…I promised his girlfriend…" He doesn't finish, because Magda takes his elbow and puts an arm around him, and tells him it's over. She's good with med students, like that, being tough with them when she needs to be and motherly when they need it. I wait until she's led him out of the room.

"Time of death, ten twenty-one."

* * *

><p>I keep a pack of cigarettes in my locker at work for the really bad days – I quit smoking again when I left rehab, but I let myself have one every now, when I need something to help me stay this side of sane. I'm out in the ambulance bay, smoking one and just trying to clear my head, when I hear footsteps. I turn to see Teddy, still wearing the dazed, traumatized expression he's had all night, along with a pair of bloody scrubs. I scoot over on the bench, and he sits down, leaning his head back against the wall.<p>

"Got any more of those?"

I hold out the pack of cigarettes, and he takes one and lights it. "First one, huh?"

"Cigarette?"

"Mass casualty."

"Oh." He inhales. "Yeah."

"They get easier. Or…well, not easier, but you get better at handling it." I glance at the cigarette dangling from my fingers. "I only smoke one of these when it's like tonight."

"Is it always like this?"

I take a drag. "Yes. Sometimes we get to save most of them, sometimes we can't save any, but in the middle of it, it's always the same."

He rubs his forehead. "It's just…he was so young. And the girlfriend, I promised her…" He trails off.

"You have to learn not to promise anything except that we'll do the best we can. It…I know that sounds obvious, but it takes time to figure out exactly what you're supposed to say and how to say it."

Neither of us says anything after that. Instead, we just sit there smoking, and I'm listening to the sounds of the city and hoping that at least for now, one of them isn't a siren. I finish my cigarette and stub it out and it's tempting to smoke another, but I resist. It's bad enough that I still let myself have one now and then, but letting myself enjoy it is another story. There's a fine line between it being something to get through a bad night and a habit.

I glance over at Teddy, still holding his head in one hand as he smokes and looking lost.

"The good news is there isn't much worse than this," I tell him as gently as I can. "Mass casualties, burn victims, and abuse cases – they're the toughest things you're going to have to deal with. Everything else…you'll get to a point where it's reflexive."

"Guess I still have burn victims to look forward to, then," he mutters. "They should tell you this stuff sooner."

"Maybe. But then we'd have a lot of anesthesiologists and nobody to take care of the patients once they're asleep."

He almost smiles.

"Listen." I stand up, finally. "The best piece of advice I can give you is that if you can avoid it, don't be alone tonight. Go home, stay with a friend, sleep in the on-call room – just try to get some rest, and don't torture yourself over it. Okay?"

"You don't think Cavanaugh will throw me out?" I can't quite tell if he's serious or making a lame attempt at humor.

"I think you'll be all right."

* * *

><p>By the time I get home, it's almost two in the morning. I peek into Joe's room to see him snuggled up under the covers, drooling just a little onto Buzz Lightyear, and Isabella sleeping on the portable cot with her hands folded primly under her head and her princess doll tucked beside her.<p>

I guess gender stereotypes have some sort of basis in nature, after all.

Luka's snoring softly when I come in, and I undress and put on one of his tee shirts and slide under the covers. I feel him shift beside me. "Hey."

"I didn't mean to wake you," I whisper.

I feel his arm slide over my waist, and he pulls me against him. "Rough night, huh?"

"Mmhmm." I don't know if it's an assumption, or if he can read my emotions, or if he can smell the cigarette smoke on me. Either way, I don't really care. The minute I'm curled up against him, everything feels a little better.

"You missed the big fight."

"What?"

I feel his chest move as he laughs quietly. "Joe wanted to play with the princess toy, and wasn't happy when she wouldn't share."

"Uh-oh." So much for gender stereotypes.

"He tried to take it away from her, so she threw Buzz at him. I don't know if he was more upset about having a toy thrown at him or at her disrespecting Buzz."

"Probably disrespecting Buzz." I lace my fingers through Luka's. "Was there a peace treaty?"

"Buzz and the princess got to sit on top of the fridge for the rest of the night. I think the injustice united them."

"I'm glad."

He shifts next to me. "It was strange."

"What was?"

"Having her here. I thought it would be…I don't know. Harder."

It takes me a minute to get what he means – not hard in the sense that dealing with two toddlers is hard, but hard in the sense that the last time he was dealing with two children, they were his. And it probably made it that much more significant given that it was a boy and a girl. I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes mine back.

"It was okay, though, you know? I sort of liked it. Watching them together, it's sweet. Usually."

"Mmm." I'm fighting to stay awake, now. The rush of adrenaline that comes with a mass casualty is always followed by a hard crash, between the physical exhaustion and the emotional weight of it. And it's hard to fall asleep after something like that, or at least, it is if there's not a warm body there, stroking your hair and breathing softly beside you.

"Go to sleep," he murmurs. "I'll wake up with them in the morning."

"Thanks." I rub my thumb over the back of his hand. "For everything, I mean. Not just…"

"I know." I feel him kiss my head. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

We didn't used to say that all that often – not that it wasn't true, but it didn't feel like something that needed to be vocalized all that much. It's become a kind of habit, though, since he moved back in, and then we moved here, to say it before we go to sleep. I think it's just a sort of recognition that despite everything that's happened, it still holds true. We've both gotten to a point where we can say it comfortably, and not have it feel cheesy or terrifying or anything except true.

I think about that morning before the shootout at County and the abruption and part of me still wants to go back and kick myself for not managing to get the word out. I mean, I'd gotten the important one out, but for whatever reason, adding "you" somehow seemed too much of a challenge. I guess maybe I was afraid he wouldn't say it back, or feel it back, but I think mostly I was just afraid of what that meant, because the last time I'd said it to someone was Richard, and that didn't turn out all that well.

But the thing is, either one of us could have easily died that day, and I still think about what would have happened if that had been the case and I hadn't managed to tell him that. Either I'd have had to live with that, never having told him that, or he'd have had to live with not knowing.

It seems important to say it, now, even if we both know, just in case something does happen, and as a sort of affirmation that it hasn't changed. I hope we never get to the point that it's an empty statement, or a reflex rather than something meaningful, but I don't think it will. I've known Luka ten years, and for most of those, I've loved him, even if there were times that I wasn't in love with him, or times that I didn't really like him all that much. I don't think, based on that, and on the fact that I've never trusted or cared for a person half as much as I do him, that it will change. Even if we ever got to a point where one or both of us didn't want to be together anymore – and I hope to hell that's never the case – I don't think I would stop loving him. Or could, really. It's like a chronic condition, one that I'm very happy to have.

He holds me through the night, and when I wake up to a chorus of plaintive demands for breakfast and attention, his arms are still wrapped around me. I look at him, as he's getting up, and he just sort of smiles at me, like he knows how grateful I am that I did have someone to come home to last night, and that it was him.


	7. Princes Familiar

**"Princes Familiar"**

Luka's friend from Tufts has us over for dinner the weekend before Maggie comes, and as much as I'd like to be making the most of our time before my mother swoops in and shreds my nerves, I suck it up and prepare myself to make uncomfortable conversation and pretend to like roasted goat kebabs because I love my husband. As it turns out, my preparation is pretty pointless, as Srdjan wins me over by opening the door as we're getting out of the car and shouting at Luka to get his filthy Croatian ass off his fucking lawn, which cracks Luka up. I mean, there's a delay between my initial confusion and deciding I like him, but as soon as Luka starts laughing, Joe starts laughing, and it's hard not to like the person responsible. As we're going inside, Luka quietly explains to me that Srdjan is originally from Sarajevo and it's been a running joke between them for a while. I decide I like him even more knowing he can make Luka laugh about an ethnic rift that is not exactly lighthearted.

Srdjan introduces me to his wife, Vesna, while two teenage girls descend on Joe. Srdjan nods to them. "This is Petra, and this is Katarina. They love babies, and know that their father will kill them if they make him a grandfather before they're thirty. Yes?"

Both girls roll their eyes and turn back to Joe, who seems to enjoy the attention. I glance at Luka, who shrugs, and a thought flickers through my mind as to whether he'd be like that if we had a daughter. Probably worse.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Vesna asks me politely.

"Oh - seltzer or a soda would be great."

She turns to Luka. "Still the same, yes?"

"No." He smiles at her. "Just seltzer."

I nudge him gently to let him know he doesn't have to pass up a drink on my account, but he just catches my hand and squeezes it. As far as I know, he hasn't had a drink since we moved to Boston. Or for at least a few weeks before that, really. It's kind of touching, knowing that he likes it and likes to socialize in these sorts of situations with a drink in hand, and that he's willing to give that up for me. And at the same time, I feel guilty every time he does, because there's a part of me that still wishes I could just contain my issues to myself, and not pass them off to him. But I guess I'm learning that it's not that easy, and that involving Luka is a part of staying sober.

I squeeze his hand back. "So, Luka told me we're having something with its head still attached."

Srdjan flashes me a smile that reminds me a little of Luka's. "Only for him, we've killed him a fresh skunk. For everyone else, there is..." He pauses, and shouts into the kitchen. "Vesna, what did you cook?"

"Skunk!" She shouts back. Either they planned this ahead of time or share an affinity for teasing Luka. Judging from the look on Luka's face, I don't think he minds it.

"I mean for the regular people!"

"Oh." She comes out of the kitchen with two glasses of seltzer. "Chicken."

"Chicken," Srdjan tells me importantly, as though I couldn't hear the conversation. I can't tell if he's trying to amuse me or annoy his wife. "Unless you like roadkill. Then we can check under the tires of Petra's car."

Petra looks up from Joe long enough to shoot her father a glare, and then turns to me. "Is it okay if we play with him?"

I glance at Luka who shrugs. I don't think either of us is stupid enough to refuse free babysitting. "Sure," I tell her.

"They're very good baby sitters," Srdjan assures me as they disappear with Joe. He gestures to the living room. "Come. I'll tell you embarrassing stories about your husband."

I hear Luka sigh softly as we follow Srdjan and Vesna. "Don't worry," I whisper. "Can't be any worse than watching you play softball."

"Ha ha," he mutters.

We sit down and I feel a little disconcerted, all of a sudden, sitting in this nice living room with my husband and another couple. It's strange - Richard and I would do that, have dinner with other couples, and I always felt like an outsider. It's still a little uncomfortable for me, but I don't know, there's something different, like I belong. Luka's arm is draped across the couch behind me, and I know it's just how he sits, but it feels almost protective.

Srdjan starts telling stories about when he and Luka were in medical school together, and it takes me a little while because neither of them come out and say it, but eventually it becomes clear to me that he lived in Vukovar, too. I don't ask about the war, obviously, or when he left, but after awhile Luka eyes me like he's just checking that I get it, and I nod. Every so often Luka or Vesna chimes in, and a couple of times it's in Croatian and I don't think they realize it until they're all talking over each other and I have a blank look on my face.

They keep at it, thankfully mostly in English, through dinner, and it's interesting, hearing about Luka before the war, how he was different. And the same. As Vesna is serving dessert and Petra and Katarina have disappeared again with Joe, Luka says something in Croatian, and Srdjan replies with this grin I recognize because it's the same one Luka gets when he's about to revert to adolescence and pull some dumb joke, like putting stuffed snakes in my bag. Srdjan leans across the table to me. "Did Luka tell you why I am a surgeon?"

"You're a surgeon?" I'm waiting for the punch line. "I thought you worked in the ER."

"Trauma surgeon," he corrects me. "Thanks to Luka."

"Thanks to - " I look at Luka, who is staring intently at his napkin. I can see the tension in his jaw. "Luka convinced you to be a surgeon?"

"Not exactly," Luka mutters.

"Luka, comic he is, thought it would be funny - Srdjan the surgeon. So he bet me for it." Srdjan glances at Luka, and I get the impression he's enjoying watching Luka squirm. "I was not decided on my specialty yet, and stupid me, this seemed like a simple way to pick."

"Very stupid." Vesna hands me a slice of what I recognize as kremsnite, which Luka loves. Personally, I find wiggly food a little suspicious, but I take the plate all the same.

"So - what was the bet?"

Srdjan glances at Luka and gestures for him to go ahead and tell me. Luka sighs. "I, uh...bet him which of us could drink more."

"No, you bet me who could drink more of that sewer water."

"Travarica," Luka tells me. "Tastes like..."

"Vodka and lawn clippings." Petra sits down next to Vesna. Her sister sits down next to me with Joe, who seems to have his radar tuned into the presence of cake as his eyes look like they might pop out of his head. He reaches for my plate, and I have to take him from Katarina before he knocks everything within arm's reach off the table in his attempt to get my dessert.

Srdjan points at Petra with his fork. "You should not know that."

She shrugs. "I'm legal in Croatia. It was fine. Besides, that stuff's awful."

Her father doesn't seem reassured. He turns back to me right as Joe pushes the forkful of cake I'm offering out of his way and shoves his hand directly into the cake. "Eats like his father. Who, as I was saying, you should never challenge to a drinking contest."

Luka looks like he's trying to burn a hole through the tablecloth with his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind." I reach my free hand over and touch his leg gently, and he relaxes a little. "So what would you have had to do if you lost?"

He tenses again, and groans. "Don't - "

Srdjan ignores him. "Name his son after me."

I raise my eyebrows at Luka. "You were going to name Marko 'Srdjan'?"

"No," Vesna tells me, smiling. "He was going to have to tell Dani he wanted to name him that, and then sleep in the street for the next year when she threw him out."

"Luckiest thing that ever happened to me, losing that bet. She would have killed us both."

"Luck my ass." Luka finally looks at me, a sheepish half-smile on his face. "Danijela didn't like Srdjan very much. I knew if I lost, I was screwed."

I look down at Joe, who is happily sucking cake off of his fingers. "Well...at least it would have been better than 'Mongo.'"

"That's true." Luka looks at me, and then at Joe, and it's like I can see the tension going out of him. I think he still needs to learn that he doesn't have to walk on eggshells, that I can handle whatever it is he says. There are times, like the night he told me about the hospital in Vukovar, that it is painful to hear, but at the same time, when he shares those little shreds with me, I feel it's something sacred, and that him trusting me enough to let me in is monumental. And at the same time, it hurts, knowing there's still so much he hasn't said and might never say, both because I want him to trust me enough for that and because I hate the thought of him carrying all that around by himself. I think we're both getting there, but maybe everything that happened in the last year was enough of a push for me to start down that road, and he's still slow to catch up.

I'm quiet on the ride home and so is he, and it's easy enough to pretend we're keeping it down because Joe is sleeping, but eventually he reaches out and brushes his fingers down my arm. "I'm sorry."

My instinct is to play dumb and pretend everything is fine, but instincts haven't served me all that well in the past when it comes to things like this. So instead, I tell him I know.

"I didn't mean to keep things from you," he sighs. "It's just...hard. I don't know how to talk about it."

I don't know where the sudden feeling of bravery comes from, but I hear myself talking and it's almost a shock to hear it. "Are you afraid you're going to scare me off?"

"No." He sounds a little shocked, too. "I - I don't know. I guess maybe a little. Mostly I just..." He shakes his head. "I don't know what to say, Abby."

"I know the feeling, trust me." I reach over for his hand and he laces his fingers into mine. "I'm learning, too. I don't want to force you into anything, but I want you to be able to talk to me. I want to know these things about you, about your life. And I'd like Joe to know someday, too. About you, where you come from, that he has a brother and sister and why they're not here. I don't want you to bottle it all up because you're afraid it's going to upset me."

He's quiet for a few minutes, until we turn onto our street, and I'm afraid now, myself, that I did push him too far. But he keeps holding my hand, and eventually he lets out a long breath. "You might have to help me."

"Okay."

"I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I'm pretty bad at talking about this kind of thing."

"I had no idea."

"Shut up." He's smiling. "It's a lot easier not to talk about it."

"I know. But I'm not so sure it's helping either of us in the long run. And I really don't want Joe to learn that from us."

We pull into the driveway and I see Luka glance back at Joe in the rearview mirror. "So you're gonna use him against me, huh?"

"Is it working?"

He looks down at his lap for a moment, and his hair falls in his eyes. I keep meaning to get both him and Joe haircuts. They're turning into a couple of sheepdogs. "Pretty well, yeah."

I push the hair back off his forehead and let my fingers linger a little bit. "Good."

* * *

><p>Maggie comes in on Thursday night, so Luka picks her up on his way home while I do disaster relief in the wake of the playgroup. I'm putting Joe in his pajamas after successfully getting most of the mud and grass off of him - definitely the last time I let them play in the sprinkler - when they pull in the driveway, prompting Joe to inform me that Tata is home.<p>

"Yup. And who else?" I stand him up on the changing table and try with limited success to navigate his foot through the hole in his pajamas. "Help me out here."

He looks down. "No."

"Joe..."

"No say please."

This is his new thing, turning the manners thing back on Luka and me. I swear he does it on purpose to annoy me. I know that's giving a two-year-old a lot of credit, but he has that thing, that little mischievous look on his face that's the same as Luka's. I sigh. "Please put your foot in the hole."

"Kay." He grabs a handful of my shirt and steadies himself as he navigates. I get a triumphant smile. "All done."

I zip him up. "Come on, Grandma's here. Let's go see what kind of ridiculous outfit she made for you."

We head downstairs just as they're coming in the door, and Maggie takes one look at Joe and immediately flies into a fit of hysterical grandmotherly adoration. Joe just sort of looks at her like he's not sure what the deal is as she coos at him and calls him "Joey" and so on. Eventually she notices that I'm not, in fact, a hat rack holding Joe up and gives me a hug. "My god, you just look so good you could be in a magazine."

"Thanks, I think." I eye Luka, who's sort of slinking towards the kitchen. As much as someone his size can slink. "I think we were planning to order Chinese. Do you want to look at the menu and then I can show you the guest room?" It all sounds so domestic I could vomit.

"Oh, just order whatever you two usually get, I'm sure it's fine." Maggie's still lavishing cutesy attention on Joe. I have the feeling she couldn't care less what we order or where she sleeps or what Luka and I do. We're irrelevant at this point.

Luka looks at me. "Same as usual?"

"Yeah. Joe, do you want noodles or chicken?"

He tears his eyes away from the curiosity that is Maggie. "Yes."

"Which one? Noodles or chicken?"

"Yes," he repeats, and looks at me seriously. "Ickums."

I look at Luka. "Chicken, I think."

"Ickums." Joe nods approvingly.

Maggie looks like she could just about die. She holds out her arms. "Come here, let me hold my grandson."

Joe looks up at me like he needs some promise that I'm not handing him over to a complete lunatic. Which, let's be honest, is not something I'm entirely sure of myself. I manage a reassuring smile and pass him over to Maggie.

He seems to have some misgivings for about thirty seconds, until she asks him if he'd like to open his presents. I immediately become chopped liver, as I do not have any presents for him, and Maggie becomes the greatest person in the universe. I leave them in the living room, tearing apart Maggie's suitcase, and find Luka in the kitchen.

"I'm obsolete."

"Hmm?" He looks up from laying cash on the counter, presumably for the delivery person.

"I said, I'm obsolete. Maggie brought presents."

"Ah." He smiles a little.

"You okay?" I lean against the counter beside him.

He shrugs. "Yeah. It was just…weird. Driving back with her."

"Oh god. What did she say?"

"No, no." He shakes his head. "Did you…maybe talk to her before?"

I clear my throat. "Oh. That. I might've given her an approved list of things she could talk to you about while you were alone together."

"Abby."

"What?" I face him, and I can't decide if he's annoyed or amused. Or both. "She has a talent for saying the worst possible thing imaginable. I just…I had all these horrifying scenarios in my head of what she might say to you and completely freak you out."

He looks at me for a moment, like he's processing the information. From the living room, I can hear Joe demanding more presents, and Maggie laughing. "I thought you said I shouldn't be afraid to talk to you. Not to worry about scaring you off. It goes for you, too."

"It's different. It's…_Maggie._ She's not exactly delicate."

"What do you think she's going to say to me that's so bad? We were in the car for fifteen minutes."

I give him a look.

"Oh. You mean – my family, or your alcoholism?"

"Both, probably. Fifteen minutes is a lot of time for Maggie. She talks fast."

He takes a hold of my arm and pulls me towards him. "It's not like I haven't met the woman, Abby. I spent plenty of time with her when Joe was in the NICU, and believe me, I know she can talk."

"That was different."

"Why? You think because we were worried about Joe she didn't ask me eight thousand questions? Like you said – she talks fast. I've sort of figured out how to handle it."

I look up at him, and the corners of his mouth twitch a little. "Sorry."

"Let her off the hook, okay? It's weird like this. She talked about the weather for fifteen minutes straight."

"Yeah, okay. Besides, I think she's too distracted now to bother you."

"Want to sneak out the back and go to a movie? She probably won't notice."

"I would." I shrug. "But I'm kind of hungry."

"Ah, right. The food."

I wrap my arms around his neck. "I'm free tomorrow. And I'm pretty sure Joe will still be adorably distracting then."

He takes my hand and kisses it gently. "Tomorrow it is."

* * *

><p>I take Friday off and bring Maggie and Joe downtown to Newbury Street. We spend the morning window-shopping at all the boutiques I can't afford, which Maggie loves, and she insists on buying me a dress that she says will knock Luka's socks off. I tell her he's European and they are generally reluctant to part with their socks, and she tells me to stop being ornery and try the thing on already. I have to admit it looks good and that Luka will probably enjoy certain aspects of it, but I feel guilty because even on sale it's ridiculously expensive. After about five refrains of "you really shouldn't have bought it," she tells me to shut up and let her enjoy doing something nice for me.<p>

We have lunch at a trendy little bistro and Joe chases pigeons all the way back to the Public Garden, where he introduces Maggie to the bronze ducklings. They all have names that go along with a book - which he has, and which I've read him about three hundred times now - but he is very adamant that they are all named Pat, including the mother duck. We buy crackers and throw them to the live ducks in the park, which are also all named Pat, and Joe throws some to - or rather, at - the squirrels. Maggie asks him what the squirrels are named, and he looks at her like she's stupid and tells her they're named "Squirrel," except for one of them, who is apparently more important than the other squirrels, and is named "Not Pat."

Luka only works a half-day on Fridays, so he meets us in the park in time to ride the swan boats, and when we're done, Joe pitches his usual afternoon tantrum and demands we go again. I'm all set to give him his pacifier and walk around until he falls asleep, but Maggie just takes him by the hand and leads him to the edge of the water and he immediately stops crying. I look at Luka and we're both pretty stupefied until he comes running back to tell us that there are pollywogs in the pond, except he calls them "lollypogs." I thank Maggie and actually mean it, and she just smiles and tells me there's no such thing as a child who doesn't like pollywogs.

We're driving home and Joe is out cold in his car seat when Maggie suggests in this sly sort of tone that she could babysit Joe tonight, seeing as how they're getting along so well, and that Luka and I ought to go out. I turn around in my seat and eye her. "Oh, stop that," she tells me. "I'm not suggesting you leave us alone for the weekend, it's just a night off. I think I can handle that much."

I look at Luka, and he looks back at me in such a way that suggests he's not stepping into this one. I fidget and sigh a couple of times and then Maggie clears her throat. "Okay," I tell her. "A couple of hours. We'll be back in time to put him to bed."

"Oh, Abby, don't be silly. Go out and have a nice dinner, see a movie - we'll be fine. I know how to change a diaper and make grilled cheese and all that. I did manage to raise you and your brother."

I sigh, and somehow manage to suppress the urge to respond and qualify exactly what share of the raising she did. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Luka starting intently at the road ahead. It's almost endearing how committed he is to staying the hell out of it. "All right. Fine." I take another deep breath and slowly unclench my fist from around the passenger's side door handle. I don't know if I was subconsciously preparing to jump out of the car or what, but it seems to have passed. "Thank you."

When we get home I let Luka make the reservations - another one of those male ego things that I don't mind indulging since if it were left up to me, we'd eat at the same place every time - and I spend about an hour giving Maggie a walkthrough of the house and detailed instructions while she tells me I'm being ridiculous. When I've finally finished, she smiles and says as much of a pain in the ass I'm being, it's nice to see me like this, maternal and happy, and she always knew I'd make a good mother. I roll my eyes but it's sort of nice to hear.

We go out a couple of hours later, leaving Maggie trying to convince Joe that making cookies is more fun than throwing flour in the air and eating chocolate chips out of the bag. I'm actually with him, on that one. Luka waits until we're out the door before he looks over at me with that gleam in his eye and asks if I'm wearing something new.

"Oh - yeah, Maggie bought it for me today. What do you think?"

"It's nice," he murmurs, brushing his hand casually down my back. And then a little lower. "Soft."

"You know the neighbors can probably see you groping me, right?"

He shrugs and opens the car door for me. "So let them see."

It takes me a little while to realize we're going all the way into the city, but when I bring up the very reasonable point that we were just in the city, he makes the equally reasonable point that we don't get a whole lot of nights off, especially ones with a sitter who doesn't charge by the hour.

We eat at an Italian restaurant in the North End, which is apparently where one goes in Boston for good Italian food, and it has this almost European feel to the neighborhood, crowded and cramped but also inviting. The restaurants are sort of packed together, and I have no idea if one of them is better than another, but Luka holds onto my hand and we sort of weave through the masses of people and into this little place with no glass on the windows, just open to the street. It's sort of this mix of elegant and relaxed at once, and as soon as we're seated – which happens awfully fast given the crowd – a busboy comes over and grins at Luka. "How are you, Dr. Kovač?"

Luka says he's fine, and introduces me, and they chat for a few minutes before a waiter comes up to take our order and shoo the busboy away to clear tables. Once we've ordered drinks, I ask what all of that was about.

Luka shrugs. "His father was a patient a few weeks ago. I guess the whole family owns this place. They told me to call if I ever wanted a table."

I shake my head a little. "How is it you're always getting favors and gifts from patients, and I only get dinner invitations from dirty old men?"

"I'm very charming."

"Are you saying I'm not?"

He nudges my foot under the table. "You're very charming. That's why the dirty old men ask you to dinner."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment."

He just grins, and keeps up the little game of footsie under the table. We just sort of sit, not talking, but doing that whole nonverbal communication thing we've got going that makes me resent that we're in public and not at home because I'd like very much to move over to his side of the table and start in on a different sort of nonverbal communication.

Dinner is incredible, and afterward, I have to stop myself from licking the sauce off my plate. I do lick the chocolate off the plate when we get dessert, and Luka keeps eyeing me as I run my finger over the plate to get the last of the tiramisu and proceed to suck on my finger. It's not like I'm trying to be suggestive – it just happens to appear that way to him while I'm in the process of trying to maintain some level of manners instead of licking the plate itself.

We walk around a little bit afterward, and his hand is on the small of my back and I'm sidled up against him and it's strange how intimate it all feels despite the fact that we're on a crowded street.

As we're driving back home, his hand is on my leg, and he's sort of absently running his fingers up and down, and they keep getting just a little bit higher until it's not at all innocent. I know it's probably not the smartest idea to be engaged in some serious foreplay when the prospects for it actually going anywhere are somewhat diminished by the fact that my mother is staying with us, but I don't ask him to stop and it's bordering on third base by the time we pull into the driveway. He moves his hand away and we sit there for a minute, composing ourselves so that it's not blatantly obvious when we walk in that we were fooling around in the car.

Maggie's on the couch with a cup of tea when we come in, and she waves at us through a yawn. "Did you two have fun?"

"Mmhmm." I clear my throat. "You didn't have to wait up if you were tired."

"Oh, it's fine, I've just been watching a movie. Joe went down about an hour ago and he's been quiet as a mouse."

"Great." Luka gives her a sort of strained smile. "I'll go check on him."

Maggie waits until he's up the stairs and lowers her voice. "Is he feeling all right?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's just he looked flushed, I wondered…" She trails off and gets this look on her face that I recognize. I've been found out. I suddenly feel all of sixteen years old and somehow can't quite make eye contact with her. "You know, never mind. I think I'm going to go up to bed, it's been a busy day."

I concentrate on picking an imaginary piece of lint off my dress. "Okay, well, thanks again."

She pats my shoulder and disappears upstairs. I wait until I hear the door to the guest room close and then go up to find Luka sitting on the bed, taking off his shoes and socks. "Nice job. It took my mom about eleven seconds to figure us out."

He grins and ducks his head a little. "Sorry." I don't think he means it.

"So…she went to bed."

"Yeah?"

I kick off my shoes and undo the clasp on my necklace. "Yeah. And I was thinking – "

"Shower?"

"Mmhmm."

The water is hot and so is Luka and he keeps whispering to me to be quiet, which keeps making me giggle because it really is like we're sixteen. And I keep flashing back on that day we went shopping for baby things, early on when I was pregnant, and giggling and shushing him in the dressing room and him having to actually stop me because I was hormonal as hell and wanted him right then and there in the store. Which he did, too, I think, but apparently had a slightly clearer head. There's something special and sacred about those memories, because the beginning and end of my pregnancy were both so difficult and sometimes I forget how good it was in between, those little moments and how it was scary but also the happiest I'd ever been up until then. And here I am now and I know this is even better, all of what I was so afraid of wanting back then.

* * *

><p>"Abby?" Maggie pokes her head around the kitchen door. Joe is upstairs napping and Luka's at the grocery store, which is sort of a Sunday routine now - or my Sunday routine, rather, when I get a whole hour to myself to do absolutely nothing. Apparently that doesn't apply this time. "I was hoping while we were by ourselves we could talk."<p>

"Sure, yeah...I guess." I decide it doesn't sound any better coming from one's mother than it does coming from a significant other.

She settles herself at the kitchen table and I follow suit. I have absolutely no idea what it is she's going to say and I'm not particularly fond of the anticipation. She clears her throat. "It's about your father."

I sigh. "I already told you - I don't want to hear it. I don't want to be involved. He made his decision."

"Thirty years ago, Abby. People change. God knows I have. I'm not saying you have to forgive him for leaving, I just think - "

"Can we not do this? I just...I made a decision, and I'm not going to change my mind. He's not a part of my life."

"Abby." She reaches across the table for my hand. I pull it away. "Just hear me out."

"I don't understand why you're pushing this, now." A thought strikes me. "Are you sick?"

She smiles. "No, I'm not sick. I'm just...owning up to my own mistakes. It wasn't all his fault, what happened. I'm making some amends, and I think he deserves the chance to do the same."

"Amends? What, are you in the program now?" I can hear how bratty I sound but I can't seem to stop myself.

"Twelve steps works for more than just addiction, Abby."

I'm quiet for a minute. "Since when?"

"The day after you called and told me you were pregnant."

Now I really feel like a bitch. I fiddle around with my hair and don't quite meet her eyes. "Oh. I...I didn't realize there was even...that kind of thing."

"Neither did I. My psychiatrist recommended it. When you told me you were having a baby, I decided maybe it was time. I wanted to make sure I'd be a better grandmother than I was a mother."

"Mom..." I trail off, because I don't know what to say. It's not as though either of us would buy it if I argued with her.

"I just...I hope I can be there for you if you need me, and that I can be a part of Joe's life."

I smile a little. "Twelve steps doesn't help with fear of flying, does it?"

She laughs. "I'm working on it. Maybe by next summer."

"Maybe." It's a little bit strange, having a conversation with a rational Maggie, who's actually acting very much like my mother at the moment. I guess it's better late than never.

There's silence for a minute or two, and finally she reaches out across the table again and I don't move my hand away. "He's not doing very well."

"His lungs." Maggie nods. "I told him to see a specialist."

"He was never very good at listening to advice. Stubborn as hell."

"And here I was thinking I got that from you."

She smiles for just a moment, and then looks at me in that serious way mothers do, the look that seems to have an almost supernatural effect when it comes to the recipient shutting up. "I don't want you to regret not having the chance to see him or talk to him. There aren't a lot of opportunities left."

"He's not my father. Biologically, he might have contributed half my DNA, but that doesn't earn him the right to be that, to claim he's my father. Fathers don't abandon their kids and then show up thirty years later and lie about who they are."

"I know that," she says softly. "And believe me, Abby, I've done my fair share of yelling at him for what he did to you and Eric. But at a certain point, there's no use in being angry anymore. I don't want you to spend the rest of your life hating him."

"I was planning on giving it up at some point."

She gives me a look. Apparently my deflection is not working as well as I'd hoped. "Just think about it. You don't have to invite him to Thanksgiving or anything, but he offered to come here, so that you wouldn't have to go out of your way."

"You _talked_ to him about it?"

"He just asked me if I'd tell you that he's willing to make the trip, if you're willing to see him."

"Can I just say how weird it is that the two of you talk?"

She laughs again. "We don't _talk_, Abby. We just...we're both getting older and trying to right some wrongs while we still have the chance. And a big part of that is trying to forgive one another."

"Still."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, we have no plans of reconciling."

"I'm so relieved." I roll my eyes.

"Besides." She winks. "I have other prospects."

"Oh, god."

"There's a very nice gentleman who keeps stopping by my booth at the crafts fair. I don't think he's interested in my knit wares, if you know what I mean."

"Okay." I stand up. "I'm not listening to this."

"We're both mature, attractive adults. And if he happens to ask me to dinner - "

I cover my ears. "This conversation isn't happening. I'm going to get Joe up from his nap."

I hear Maggie laughing despite my palms being pressed into my ears, but thankfully she doesn't finish whatever she was going to say. Joe's lying in his bed when I walk in, holding a board book casually over his head and sucking his thumb. As soon as he spots me, he holds the book out to me. "Dis."

"You want to read?" I sit down on his bed. He nods and dangles the book in my direction. "How about we go downstairs and you ask Grandma to read to you so she can't finish telling me about her dating life?"

He looks at me a moment and seems to consider. "Kay." He holds up the arm not currently in his mouth.

"You want me to carry you?"

He nods and looks at me with this expression, earnest and sweet and a little bit mischievous and eyes that are exactly like Luka's. I'm no more capable of resisting them on Joe than on Luka. Which I think he's starting to figure out. I pick him up, and he looks at me and for just a second, it's overwhelming how grateful I am that he doesn't have to grow up without a father. I think there are a lot of men who would have done what Eddie did, cut and run, but Luka wouldn't. No matter what else has happened or could happen between us, I know he'd never do to Joe what Eddie did to Eric and me. I guess it makes it that much harder to understand now, because someone finally proved my whole complex about not being able to trust men wrong. Maybe it would be easier to forgive my own father if Joe's wasn't exactly what a father is supposed to be, but he is, and I'm not sorry about that.

I hear the sound of the garage opening and then the thump of Joe's book on the floor. A drool-covered hand swipes across my cheek as Joe claps his hands together. "Tata!"

"Mmhmm." I wipe my face with my sleeve. "Want your book?"

He shakes his head. "Want Tata."

"Yeah." I smile. "Me, too."


	8. Never Gonna Leave This Bed

**A/N:** Happy leap day. Thanks to Essy for betaing...twice. No, the title of this one is not terribly subtle as far as music references go. Oh, well.

* * *

><p><strong>"Never Gonna Leave This Bed"<strong>

"Abby." I'm vaguely aware of a disembodied voice calling my name. "Aaa-bby."

"Mmpf." Experience has taught me that ignoring disembodied voices is generally the best response. I pull the covers over my head and hope it gives up.

"I brought coffee."

I lower the covers enough to get visual confirmation – given that I've been tricked before, I'm somewhat wary.

Luka lowers the mug so that I can both see and smell it. "Oh, all right. I'm awake." I scoot up to a sitting position and take the coffee. Luka sits on the bed by my feet and gives me an amused smile.

"We should really get an espresso maker and put it on the nightstand instead of an alarm."

"I've considered it, but the likelihood of repeatedly burning my hand is a little bit of a deterrent." I yawn. "What time is it?"

"Little before nine."

I frown. "It's Sunday." We've got this sort of routine established, where I sleep in on Saturdays and Luka gets up with Joe, and vice-versa on Sundays.

"I couldn't sleep. I figured...one of us ought to."

"Oh. Well, thanks."

"Sure. Listen, I have to run an errand. Joe's downstairs watching his cartoon, so you probably can shower and he won't move."

I roll my eyes a little. Luka's brother sent a DVD of some Croatian children's show that Joe got hooked on when he was there, and now watches it a couple of times a week despite the fact that it's the same episodes, over and over. At this point, I know most of the words, even if I have no clue what any of them mean.

"I have my meeting later, I can stop and get whatever it is, if you want."

He shakes his head. "It's okay, it's - it's just a thing I need to do. I'll be back before your meeting."

"Okay." I'm not sure why he's being evasive, but I decide not to push it. I don't really think it's anything nefarious and plus, there's always the chance he's got some sort of surprise for me. Not that I'm hoping it's for me, and there aren't any holidays coming up, but he's not entirely predictable in terms of romantic stuff. This is the guy who gave me a compass, and somehow managed to make it the most romantic gift I've ever gotten.

He leans down and kisses me softly. "There's more coffee downstairs."

I nod, and watch him walk out, both because the sight of him walking away is not exactly unpleasant and because I'm still not quite awake enough to focus my eyes on anything else. Once I finish my coffee and shower, I'm a little more alert, and I go downstairs to find Joe standing about three inches from the TV, completely transfixed.

"Hey," I brush the top of his head. "I don't think the line moved all the way up there."

He ignores me completely, which I expected. I move between him and the screen and he snaps out of it a little and his face falls. He tries to push me out of the way, whimpering a little like I've wounded him by impeding his sightline.

"Joe, remember the rule?"

"Move please," he whines at me.

"Not until you're behind the table. Can you go behind the table please?"

He looks extremely put upon, but retreats to the coffee table, which is as close as he's allowed to be to the television - it has nothing to do with vision, since the whole thing about it being damaging is total crap, but because not touching the screen is a task he's completely incapable of, and getting fingerprints in various mediums such as peanut butter and paint off the screen is not the easiest thing ever. "Toes," he informs me, pointing at his feet to prove they're behind the table leg.

"Uh, huh. I see them, thank you." The conversations I have with my child are probably very similar to any other parent with a toddler, but it still amazes me sometimes, how idiotic I sound and how domestic I've become despite a lifetime swearing I'd never be that person buying diapers in bulk and setting ridiculous rules like how far a kid can be from the television. And the scary part is that I don't really mind it. It's just kind of strange how much has changed in a few years.

I find myself some breakfast and some more coffee and sit with Joe as he watches, and remind him every few minutes that he needs to back up. Eventually he gives up and climbs up on the couch to sit next to me.

Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I'd never gotten pregnant - if I'd still be with Luka, if I would've ever gotten to that place where I wasn't so terrified of everything that could go wrong and actually have a life. Or if I'd have done the same thing I always did, let things fall apart because I was too afraid to confront my insecurities and my issues and too afraid of trusting anyone to have a real relationship. I imagine that version of myself, the one that never got pregnant or married Luka or moved to the suburbs, but instead is still single and lives in a crappy walk-up and spends a lot of time and energy not getting attached to anything, is pretty unhappy and probably doesn't even realize it. And I feel incomprehensibly lucky not to be her.

* * *

><p>I'm making lunch when Luka comes home, and Joe abruptly stops playing the game of repeatedly opening and closing the drawer next to me in favor of greeting his father. Luka comes in a minute later holding him, or trying to, given how much Joe is squirming in an apparent effort to inspect the contents of Luka's shirt pocket.<p>

"Did you give him coffee or something?" He pries Joe's hand away and sets him down on the edge of the counter. "Here, look, just a penny. Okay?"

"Mine," Joe informs him, holding out his hand.

I shrug. "I think he's having one of those days. He spent about an hour just climbing on the couch and jumping off onto the floor."

"Huh." Luka glances at Joe. "Isn't that, you know, dangerous?"

"I was holding his hand, Luka. I didn't just leave him there with some jagged glass and an open flame." I slide the grilled cheese onto a plate. "Can you put him in his chair while I cut this up?"

"Yeah. Come on, buddy, time for lunch."

"You want one?" I gesture to the pan.

"Sure."

"Jam or that pepper stuff?"

"Ajvar," he corrects me.

"I'm sticking with 'disgusting pepper stuff.'"

"It's very popular in Croatia."

I hand him the plate of cut-up grilled cheese and fruit for Joe. "So is handball, and I don't find that appealing either."

"Don't say that in front of Niko, he'll cry."

I put another sandwich in the pan. "Speaking of which, Maggie says hi."

"She called?"

"No, she sent a message by carrier pigeon. You still haven't told me what you want in your sandwich."

He sets a jar of grape jelly on the counter next to me. "Thanks."

"Mmhmm."

He glances at me from the corner of his eye. "Not a good conversation?"

I shrug. "She brought up the Eddie thing again."

"And you said 'no' again." There's a kind of tone to his voice – almost like he's annoyed.

"I told her we'd had the conversation already and I was done talking about it. I thought you said you supported that."

"I said I'd support whatever decision you made. I just think…" He sighs. "It seems like you're, I don't know, not willing to even consider it."

I set down the spatula I'm holding and turn to face him. "I have considered it, Luka. I've been considering it in theory for thirty years and then another two after he showed up again, suddenly looking to reconnect now that the hard part's over. I've spent a long time trying to move on from what he did, and I don't think it's fair to ask me to open that can of worms back up just so he can feel like he's absolved for his sins. He abandoned two kids. You don't get to undo that with a couple of Hail Marys and a chat over coffee."

"He's not asking to undo it, Abby. He just wants to see you, know you're okay, and apologize."

"How do you know what he wants?" I turn off the burner and shove Luka's sandwich a little violently onto a plate. "You don't know him."

"Neither do you."

I shake my head. "I know enough. You've got to be a certain kind of rotten to walk away from your kids. I don't need that kind of person in my life."

He takes the plate and frowns down at me. I don't like it and suddenly I'm grateful Joe is sitting a few feet away because I think if he wasn't I'd be yelling.

"He's not going to be in your life much longer. He's dying, Abby. He just wants some measure of peace before that happens. You can't give him that?"

"Are you seriously turning this into me being the bad guy?"

"I'm not saying – what he did, it was bad, but that doesn't have to be the end of it. You can be the better person."

"Funny, I thought I was already, what with actually sticking around for my child." I start putting things back in the fridge while he stands there with the plate in his hand and his jaw set like he's the one that should be pissed.

"You didn't make one for yourself." He nods to the bread in my hand.

"Yeah, well, I'm not hungry."

"Abby – "

"Look." I cross my arms. "I know you mean well, but you grew up with parents who were around and sane and actually bothered to raise you. You can't – you don't get what it's like." I don't add the last part – what it's like to be a little kid, wondering if it was your fault he left, or getting married and having your teenage brother walk you down the aisle because even if you wanted him to be there, you don't even know where your father lives to invite him, or convincing yourself that that's just how men are and sabotaging every relationship you have for two decades.

His voice is a little loud, and Joe looks over curiously. "No, I don't, but I know what it's like to miss your kids and wonder what you could have done differently."

I stand there, dumbstruck, for a minute, trying to process that one. I don't think he's ever done that, thrown his past back at me in an argument, and I feel like I've been slapped. There's this wave of guilt, and then I'm just angry, that he'd say that and that he's judging me for not wanting to see Eddie and I don't think he has any right to act as though I've been nonchalant about the whole thing.

"I have to go to my meeting," I tell him quietly.

He just stands there, and for a minute I feel this pang of sadness, but then it's gone and I'm just so completely hurt and pissed because the way he said it was like an accusation, like I haven't tried every way I know how to let him know he can talk to me about his kids and like I don't remember everything he's ever said about them and ache for that loss.

* * *

><p>I get to my AA meeting about a half an hour early. I've been going to the same one I went to a couple of weeks after moving here, the all-women one with the terrible coffee, both because it's close by and because it's a comfortable environment. Caryn, who runs the group, is already there, arranging chairs, and I volunteer to make the coffee while she sets up. I'm really not sure how it is that no one has volunteered to take over the job permanently, or pitched in for store-bought coffee. I make a mental note to stop at Starbucks on the way here next weekend.<p>

"You're early." I'm in the kitchenette pouring coffee into the urn, and all over the counter in the process. "Everything okay?"

I turn around to see Jill, who I met the first week I was here, and who became my sponsor a couple of weeks later. I'm still adjusting to having someone besides Janet as a sponsor, given that it had been eight years, but a lot of the things I liked about Janet as a sponsor hold true for Jill, as well. I think the biggest change is that I'm not comfortable with her yet the way I was with Janet, although most sponsor-sponsee relationships aren't really like the one we had, given that we worked together and she delivered my child and all. Still, we're getting to the point of being able to have coffee and talk without it feeling too awkward.

"Luka and I had...a thing."

"Thing meaning 'fight'?" That's one of the similarities - just like Janet, Jill doesn't entertain bullshit.

"Yeah."

"Well, come on, give it up. I don't have all day here."

I smile despite myself. "We got into it over my father. He started, I don't know, pushing. Up until now it was all very supportive, whatever I decide, that sort of thing, and all of a sudden he's accusing me of refusing to be the bigger person. Of purposely withholding absolution or something." I grab a towel and start wiping the coffee I spilled off the counter, and Jill gets another one and starts on the coffee that's dripped onto the floor. "I told him I'd made up my mind, and he just kept pushing, and then...it was so...I don't know."

She throws the cloth into the sink. "Erotic? Megalomaniacal? Paranormal?"

I get the hint. "He brought up his kids. Not brought up, even - he threw them in my face. I told him he didn't know what it was like to grow up without a father, and he said he didn't, but that he knew what it was like to miss his kids and wonder if he could have done things differently."

Jill is quiet for a few moments, and then cocks her head. "I'm sorry if I'm being dense, but I don't see how that's throwing it in your face."

"It's – I know how much he misses his kids, and how badly he wishes he could have saved them." I shrug a little. "That's what he meant - wishing he could have changed that one moment. And I've woken up with him when he was having nightmares and held him when he hears a car backfire because it still sounds like a gun to him. I know their birthdays and what color shirts they were wearing the day they died. And I've tried to get him to open up about the rest of it to me, and to have him...to have him bring them up like that, like I'm being insensitive in protecting myself from getting hurt again and not wanting to sit down with a guy who was basically a sperm donor, it just hurts. A lot. I've feel like I've tried so fucking hard to be there for him when it comes to them, and he's resisted a lot of the time, but I've always..." I trail off and realize my hands are shaking. "I've spent the last year trying to prove to him that I'll do just about anything to make our marriage work and to support him when it comes to his own issues, and this is one of the only things I'm not willing to compromise on. It's not even that he wouldn't let it go. It – he used them like a weapon against me. "

She nods slowly. "Got it."

"He knew it would hurt, too. That's the thing, I know he did."

"I'm not Freud or anything, but it sounds from everything you've said about him that something else is bothering him. I don't know if it's about your thing with your dad or something else, but if I was placing a bet...my money's on it not being about that. At least not totally."

"I know that. I just...sometimes it seems like he's not trying. Or like he's trying in some ways, like understanding alcoholism and talking more about our relationship, but at the same time, he still refuses to get into his own issues."

Jill picks up the urn and I follow her out to the table where there are already cups and sugar and off-brand cookies that taste like dryer lint. "There's one really good thing about being in AA. You can't fake your way through things. At least not if you have any intention of staying sober. It's a kick in the ass to get your act together that most people aren't privy to."

"I'd sort of like to give him a kick in the ass right now."

"Believe me, I've been there. But it takes time for most people, and even more for men. Why do you think we don't let men come to this group?"

"I was under the impression it had something to do with creating a safe environment for us to open up."

She shrugs. "That's just what we say to appease the AA overlords. In reality, it's just that nobody here wants to put up with their shit."

"The AA overlords?"

"I like to imagine there's a group of them that sit around in stupid hats and make up rules about being polite and accepting. The power players - you know, all the senators and film producers and CEOs who need that sense of importance to fill the void that alcohol used to fill."

"As unlikely and counter to the mission that sounds, I kind of like the image."

Jill pours herself a cup of coffee. "The hats are purple in my imagination. The color of royalty and jungle juice."

"Very apt."

"Good coffee." She raises her cup a little. "You should share today."

I shrug and fill my own mug. "If there's time. It's not all that relevant to the subject. It's not like my first thought was 'I could use a drink.'"

She raises her eyebrows. "See, now _that_ is exactly what you should share."

* * *

><p>By the time I get home, I've calmed down and decide I'm ready to sit down like a real, live adult and talk to Luka about what's bothering him. And me. Not that I've turned into someone who likes this whole sharing business, but it has seemed to work for us in the last couple of months, and if Luka isn't quite ready to get into the big stuff, I guess I can understand that. I sure as hell can't force him, so my options seem to be to give up completely, which is not going to happen, or to be patient and take it - well, one day at a time, I guess.<p>

Apparently, though, it's not going to be this particular day. Luka's in full brooding mode when I get home, as demonstrated by the fact that I get more complete sentences out of Joe than him. He tells me he's just "busy," and gestures to the books and notes he has spread out in front of him at the dining room table like proof. It reminds me of when I was in detention in high school and supposed to be doing my homework - as opposed to listening to my Walkman and doodling - but whenever the teacher would come by, I'd make these exaggerated gestures, erasing some imaginary math problem or flipping the pages of my book as loudly as I could. It's not that I doubt that he's working, but come on - we both know he's brooding and pretending otherwise is sort of stupid. I offer to take Joe and do the grocery shopping, ostensibly to give him time to work, but mostly I just can't stand being around him when he's like this. It's sexy for about five seconds and then it just freaks me out, because this is how it was with Ames and after the mugger, and it scares me to think we could go back to that.

Joe is beside himself when we get to the grocery store since Luka almost always goes alone, and a few items make it into the basket that weren't on the list. The guy behind the deli counter hands him a slice of Swiss cheese and Joe sort of stares at it in wonderment and awe for a minute and then proceeds to try to fit his tongue through the holes. When that doesn't work, he shoves his fingers through and gives me a triumphant smile through the resulting hole while wearing the cheese like a Halloween mask.

Sometimes I have no idea where he comes up with this stuff.

By the time I'm loading the groceries in the car, he's an hour overdue for his nap, and I realize a second too late that telling him the slobbery piece of cheese he's still clinging to can't come home with us is going to be the tipping point. He howls so loudly that a couple of people in the cars near us are staring, probably wondering if I've kidnapped him or something, but he's asleep in his car seat before we leave the parking lot.

When we get home, Luka comes outside to bring in the groceries while I take Joe upstairs. He makes some pitiful little whimpering noises when I tuck him in and refuses to let go of my sleeve, so I lay down with him fully intending to leave as soon as he falls asleep. I wake up to an uncomfortable sensation and realize I've fallen asleep, and that Joe has inexplicably chosen to nap draped sideways across me, one hand still grabbing onto my sleeve and his knee sort of digging into my stomach. I manage to slide him off of me and under the covers without waking him and go downstairs to find Luka back at the dining room table.

"How long was I out?"

He shrugs. "Twenty minutes, I guess. Half hour, maybe."

"Sorry. Thanks for putting away the groceries."

"Mmhmm." He flips a page, but it's not so conspicuous that I think he's trying to make a show of it. I think it's more than he's just not paying attention to me.

I sit down at the table beside him. "Can we talk?"

He looks up. "About what?"

"About this morning." I swear, I love him for all I'm worth, but sometimes I could really kill him. "About why you're upset."

"I'm not upset."

"Right."

"I'm not," he snaps. "Can you please just drop it? I told you - "

"Yeah, you're busy and you're not upset. I got it. I just - " I sigh a little shakily. "Forget it. I just thought we'd gotten past this. Apparently not."

I don't wait for him to tell me yet again that he's busy and not upset. Instead I go upstairs to Joe's room, where he's still sleeping, and manage to lay down next to him in his little rocket ship bed. I stroke his hair and watch him sleep and I really do think that even if the worst points of the past few years were more difficult and more painful than before, when it was just me, it's worth it, because here's this thing, this baby, and just laying here with him is better than anything I could have imagined before I had him. And yeah, laying in bed with both Luka and Joe is better, and makes me so unbelievably happy that I could break, but I'll take what I can get for the moment.

* * *

><p>It goes on like that for the rest of the afternoon and evening, although once Joe is up from his nap it's not quite as intolerable. We play out in the yard for awhile while Luka keeps working, and after he's gotten bored with me pushing him on the swing and with his Cozy Coupe, he goes and gets his soccer ball and looks at me expectantly. I tell him he's going to have to ask Luka about that, given that the last time I tried to play soccer with him, I broke my toenail. And a potted plant. Softball, I can do, and I can manage a decent free throw, but sports that involve foot-eye coordination are not my strong suit. Luka comes out obligingly and plays with Joe and I give him a bath while Luka makes dinner, and it all works out, somehow, that we don't have to really talk save for the basic "pass the butter" and "I'll get the phone" sort of things.<p>

When I bring Joe up to bed I decide I can't deal with waiting for Luka to talk because the silence is starting to remind me a little too much of when he was in Croatia – that sort of cliché, deafening silence, where every little noise seems magnified and it's driving me crazy. I don't think I'm so much angry, at this point, as scared out of my mind. I shower and crawl into bed and spend about fifteen minutes trying to read before I just give up and turn out the light.

I don't know how long I've been lying there, drifting, when I feel a hand stroking my temple and hear Luka's voice. "Abby." His fingers are cold, but gentle, too, and so is his voice. "Abby."

"I'm awake." I wasn't entirely, but I wasn't asleep, either. Sort of that restless in-between state full of half-formed thoughts. I open my eyes and let them adjust – the lights are off but there's enough coming from the hallway and the streetlights outside that I can see Luka's face. I can see the way he's looking at me, too, and without really meaning to or thinking about it, I reach up and lace my fingers with his.

He squeezes my hand. "I'm sorry."

I don't say anything, mostly because I don't know what to say. I could tell him I'm sorry, too, except I have no idea what I'm sorry for, except that he's hurting. Instead, I squeeze his hand back.

"I didn't – you didn't do anything. I shouldn't have…" He sighs. "I keep fucking up this talking thing, huh?"

"It's not like I'm perfect at it."

"You're trying, though. I'm – it feels like I'm stuck."

I shift so that I'm sitting up, and he leans against me a little. "We're talking now, aren't we?"

"Yeah." He smiles a little. "I just wish I were better at this."

"We'll both figure it out eventually. I mean, half a day is pretty good, considering. It took me two years to tell you I was an alcoholic, and I _knew_ you knew."

We're both quiet for a few minutes, just sitting there, holding hands, and I can feel his breath on my cheek when he leans his head on mine. Eventually, I hear him talking and feel the vibrations in his throat and chest against me. "It was my father's birthday today." He pauses. "Would have been his birthday."

"Luka," I murmur.

"I don't…I don't know why I didn't tell you."

"Your errand this morning…" I slide my hand across his back and around him and he shifts closer to me and presses his lips against my head. "You went to Mass, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

I look up at him. "I would have gone with you, if you'd asked. I don't…it's not something I want to do every week, but…if you do, you should. And I'll go with you when you ask me to."

"It was strange. Good, sort of, but there was all this…"

"Guilt?" I'm not trying to be funny.

"Yeah. Not about not going to church, but regrets, about my father, and my mother, Danijela, everything. You, too. It all sort of hit me at once."

"So the thing about my father…bad timing."

"I shouldn't have said what I did. About any of it. I don't understand, you're right, and I shouldn't have pushed. And then…" He's quiet for a few moments. "The thing about my kids wasn't about you. I was just – I had no right to put that on you. I'm sorry."

"You know, don't you, that I love them? I mean…even though I didn't know them, or you, even, when they were alive, I do love them. They're yours. It's…they're part of you."

He looks at me a minute and then leans down and kisses me, hard. His hands are on either side of my face and he keeps on kissing me until my lips are a little sore – it's not sloppy or sexual or any of that, it's nothing really I know how to explain, but I get it. When he pulls back, his cheeks are wet, and it takes me a second to realize it's not him that was crying.

He runs his thumbs over my face and I try to swallow the massive lump in my throat. "It scares me, Luka. I don't want to go back to not talking."

"I know." He rubs the corners of his own eyes. "I don't either. I'm – I realized, when I was downstairs, that my father was right."

"About what?"

"It doesn't translate perfectly, but the sentiment was…it's very hard to kiss someone whose head is up their own ass."

I can't help it. I absolutely lose it, and after a second, he starts laughing, too. He pulls me against him again and after we've both managed to stop, he wraps his arms around me and I lean my head on his chest and realize that he and Joe are probably the only people in the world who can make me laugh like that, until it hurts. Like father, like son, I guess.

"Tell me about him. About your father."

"What do you want to know?"

I shift, and he moves with me so that we're lying down. He pulls the covers up over us both and drapes an arm across me.

"All of it. Any of it, I don't know. Whatever you want to tell me about."

"That might take awhile"

I smile. "I have time."


	9. Desire

**A/N**: Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter; a pox upon your house if you did not.

West Wing fans - particularly Josh/Donna 'shippers - will recall the titular theme song of this chapter as the closing music to "King Corn," which is unequivocally the best episode of television produced in the past decade, from cinematography to sound editing. The Ryan Adams song in question was matched perfectly, shot-for-stanza, with the end sequence. I will cease gushing now. But any fan of ER ought to watch West Wing, as watching them both offers a very interesting window into John Wells' process.

Thanks to Essy for betaing. Please be advised that this chapter is meant as a contrast to the last chapter and therefore contains the opposite of fighting. It starts with the same letter, though.

* * *

><p><strong>"Desire"<strong>

Srdjan's oldest daughter, Sofija, gets married the first weekend of October, so Luka and I drive down to Connecticut while Joe stays over at Isabella's. I work myself into a complete wreck the night before, given that it's the first time we'll both be away from Joe, and Luka has to reassure me in about twenty-seven different ways that he's going to be fine and that he'll probably be delighted by the whole experience, since they're apparently going to the aquarium tomorrow. He also shoots down my concern that Joe will like it better at Isabella's, what with a day full of penguins and turtles, and promises that if that does happen, it's not as though we can't win him back with cake. I have nightmares about it anyway, and when we drop Joe off with Isaac and his husband Miles the next morning, I subtly mention that he shouldn't have too many sweets. At least, I think it's subtle. I catch Luka shaking his head a little and exchanging a glance with Isaac that suggests otherwise.

"What was that all about?" I demand as soon as we're in the car.

"What was what?"

"You and Isaac gave each other a look. And not the kind like when he's checking you out."

He looks over at me for a second. "He checks me out?"

"Oh, honestly, Luka. Anybody with a pulse checks you out." I don't actually think he's trying to make it out like he's humble or something, I really think he's that dense when it comes to how people behave around people that look like him. It's simultaneously cute and annoying. "What was the look?"

He shrugs. "You're a little neurotic. That's all."

"I am not."

"It's okay. I like that about you. It's sweet, actually."

I'm not reassured. I change the subject instead. "So, do you know Srdjan's daughter well?"

"Mmhmm." He's quiet a moment as we turn onto the highway. "I used to, actually. I haven't seen her since she was little."

I hear the tone in his voice – this slight trace of melancholy, something, and by now I know what it means, even if he's not aware that he has a tell. I wait a few minutes for him to elaborate. I don't want to drag it out of him, and I won't, not with things like this. I don't think I get to make demands or judgments about what the right thing is here.

He breaks the silence, finally. "Srdjan and Vesna used to live a street over from us, in Vukovar. Sofija and Jasna would play together, sometimes. Sofija was a couple years older, but they never really seemed to mind."

I reach over and slide my hand under his and lace our fingers together. He brings both our hands up to his mouth and kisses the back of mine, very gently. "Is it…" I trail off. "If it's hard for you…the wedding, I mean…just tell me, okay?"

"Yeah. But…I don't know. I was thinking about it, and as much as I wish Jasna were here, getting married, growing up…it will be nice, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"I can at least be there at this wedding. It's…I can have that picture, at least, of what it would have been like."

I keep wondering if hearing him say things like that will ever not be painful. I guess it's good that it is, because in some strange way it feels like every time I hurt for him, maybe it's a little pain he doesn't have to feel as much. I know that it has no logical bearing and I'm not big on the whole idea that prayer or compassion or karma or whatever else has much of a physical effect, but still – I'd rather feel it than not.

* * *

><p>We go up to our room to change and shower as soon as we get to the hotel, and he lets me shower first since getting ready for him is basically running his fingers through his hair and putting on pants. I'm still just working on getting dressed when I hear the shower go off, and then about a minute later, footsteps.<p>

"Wow."

I turn around to see Luka with a towel wrapped around his waist, looking at me sort of open-mouthed and stunned.

"What?"

"I…don't think I've seen that dress on you before."

"We don't exactly go a lot of places that call for black tie."

He moves towards me. "I sort of figured…you'd wear a suit. You usually wear suits." He rests his hands on my hips. "Not that I don't like it, I just…"

I tilt my head up to look at him. "You're drooling." Which, admittedly, is the reaction I was going for when I decided not to wear a suit.

"I can't help it." He leans down and kisses me gently. "You're beautiful."

"I have to finish getting dressed." I push him away reluctantly. "You need a cold shower?"

He shakes his head and grins at me. "It's okay. I can wait."

Still, I can feel his eyes on me the entire time I'm getting ready, and I have to keep reminding myself to focus on what I'm doing – it's been a long time since it was like this. We still flirt, sometimes innocent, sometimes not, and it's not as though there's a lack of passion between us, but this, the attention, him making it known that he wants me…even times when we're interrupted by Joe or the phone or whatever else and things keep getting in the way of finishing what we've started, it's different. There's a sort of intimacy that I don't think I realized I missed this much, and knowing the whole time I'm putting my hair up that all he's thinking about is taking it down makes me a little…well, giddy. Every time I catch his eye, it brings me back to the night of Neela's wedding, and him driving me home, and how it felt like we were doing this balancing act. I kept thinking how much I wanted him to touch me, just make contact, but being terrified that if he did, the whole charade of friendship would be over in a second, and I thought that might have been how he felt, too, but I couldn't be sure and the thought of losing him completely seemed like too much of a risk. Although I guess in retrospect, there was an inevitability about that night, like no matter how much we tried to ignore it, it was going to happen.

We head down to where the ceremony is taking place and take our seats, and it's all very sweet and subdued – the groom is very cute, standing up front with this ridiculous grin that gets bigger every time one of his groomsmen takes their place next to him and claps him on the back. Even though they're young, I get the feeling that there's a lasting quality to the relationship, because I remember my first wedding and we both smiled enough, but nothing like that. And I remember my second one, and it wasn't quite as overt, but I can remember the look on Luka's face and there's something, looking at this groom, that's similar.

Everyone stands as Sofija starts coming down the aisle, Srdjan looking very much the proud father and at the same time, shooting glances at the groom as if to say, "you hurt her, I'll kill you." I feel Luka squeeze my hand and I look up at his face and see it, this sort of flash in his eyes, and I know that what he's seeing isn't Srdjan and Sofija, but himself walking Jasna down the aisle. I wait until we've sat back down and slide my arm around him, and he leans into me and looks at me, and he doesn't have to say it, but I know he's glad that we're here, together.

* * *

><p>The reception is not quite as subdued. I mean, it starts off that way, but between the open bar and the live band and some impromptu folk dancing, things escalate pretty quickly. At one point I see Vesna dragging Katarina and what looks like a very chagrined teenage boy out of the ballroom by their wrists. I glance at Luka. "So this is how they party in Croatia, huh?"<p>

He shrugs nonchalantly. "No. This is actually pretty quiet for us."

"Remind me never to let Joe out of my sight when we visit."

"I don't know – they get into trouble, but no more than over here."

"Says the man who stole a boat when he was a teenager."

He puts his head in his hands. "Srdjan told you?"

"He came over to say hello while you were in the bathroom. Somehow the subject of your bachelor party came up."

"We got married young," he says defensively. "And so…we had my bachelor party at a time when maybe we weren't the most mature. We brought it back in the morning."

"You mean after you all woke up drifting downriver?"

He shakes his head. "I'm going to kill him."

I laugh. "It's okay, Richard's sister planned mine. I think she forgot who she was doing it for, because I would not have picked the strip club as a venue of choice."

"You get a lap dance?" There's a glint in his eye.

"I honestly don't remember." I don't remember much of that night. Or the honeymoon. In all fairness, I'm not sure Richard did, either. There were an awful lot of drinks served in coconuts. "You know, I think the best part of the whole surprise wedding thing may have been that Neela never got a chance to throw me a party."

He stands up, grinning. "Come on. Dance with me."

I sigh but let him pull me up. "Just promise you won't dip me."

About thirty seconds after we get to the dance floor, the song changes, and I recognize the intro to "For Once In My Life." I peer up at Luka, who gives me an innocent look. "What?"

"Stevie Wonder?"

"Must be a coincidence." He pulls me closer, so that my chin brushes against his jacket as I crane my neck.

"Uh-huh." I'm close enough that I can feel his heartbeat. "You slip the band leader a twenty?"

He disentangles his hand from mine and brushes a lock of hair off of my face. "No." The corners of his mouth twitch.

"You gave him a fifty, didn't you?" He bites his lip and tilts his head down towards me. "So that's what, two, three songs?"

The kiss is probably a little inappropriate, in the middle of the dance floor at someone else's wedding, but I'm not all that concerned. He rests his forehead against mine. "You'll just have to keep dancing with me 'til you find out."

* * *

><p>We leave the party a little before midnight. I ask Luka if he thinks we're being rude for leaving early, but he assures me that knowing Srdjan and his family, the party won't wrap up until dawn, and we're perfectly fine leaving when we do.<p>

I think we're inside the room about four seconds – my hand is actually still resting on the lock – when Luka's hands are in my hair and I'm being walked backwards and up against a wall. He kisses me and I just sort of tense up, not out of a lack of enthusiasm, but because I wasn't really prepared. He pulls back, looking horrified. "I'm sorry, I didn't – "

"No." I reach up and let my hand rest on his jaw. "I'm not – this is good. I was just a little surprised."

He looks at me a little sheepishly, and then he slows down a little, kissing me gently and undoing my hair, and I realize it's the first time he hasn't actually asked permission, whether it's some sort of nonverbal hesitation or outright question, since Croatia.

It was after I'd arrived, on the drive to his brother's house, and I'd made my declaration that talking sooner than later was probably best - he hadn't really said much after that, and then, sort of out of nowhere, he announced that he didn't care.

_"You - what?"_

_His eyes are on the road, still. "I don't care. I thought about it. A lot. Whatever happened - just, if you tell me you still love me and you want to be with me, that's enough. That's all that matters."_

And of course, I'd said yes, that I did still love him and want to be with him, because it was true. I think I was sort of shell-shocked, though, given everything and how much he'd pushed for me to tell him, but it seemed like this was the best thing, if it was what he wanted. If it meant I could keep from hurting him more than I already had, that was what mattered. And I figured I'd handle it, what had happened, and put it behind me and he'd never have to know. It seemed easier for both of us, so I told him I was fine with that. And I was, sort of, but the longer we stayed in Croatia and the more looks Niko and everyone would give me, the guiltier I felt. Looking back, the fact that I managed to avoid drinking was a damn miracle. But I did everything I could to put forward the appearance of being fine, of being normal, and I guess I succeeded in fooling him, because about three weeks after I'd gotten there, he made a move on me. Which, I mean, was perfectly innocent and gentle and the fact that he'd waited that long said a lot, but the moment he touched me I sort of flinched, like instead of his hand on my waist, it was cold metal. I think he was too wrapped up in the fact that we hadn't been together in eight months to notice, though, and I tried with everything I had to fight the unease and to just be okay with what was happening.

"_Abby." He keeps repeating my name, this sort of desperately sweet murmur that should have me melting in his arms, but instead, I'm just struggling to lose myself in the feeling – stop questioning, stop thinking, just focus on the way his fingers fee running through my hair. If I can just focus on something, anything that reminds me of how safe I used to feel in his arms, it'll all be okay.__ He's backing me closer to the bed and he starts undressing me, slowly, gently, but I feel exposed as my shirt comes off and it's strange, because I've never felt that way with him. He moves closer and I try to keep my own hands from shaking, taking off his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. I tell myself that if I can just give him this, make it through, then the barrier will be broken and I can stop being afraid. Except right now, if feels like I'll never really stop feeling that way, because the weight of his expectations and his wants feels like it's crushing me. I get the shirt off and press my nose to his chest, just trying to breathe him in. It's comforting, it's safe, and I've missed it so much, missed his smell beside me in bed, on the sheets, on my pillow. And I keep reminding myself that he'd never hurt me. Not in a million years. And to just breathe._ _He settles me back on the bed and his hand goes to my waist and I can't stop it, don't even realize it until he's pulled away, but I flinch, and he notices this time._

_And in that moment I realize that when I did what I did that night, I gave something away that I can't get back. At least not yet. My body, my pride, my dignity, whatever it was, it's gone and now I realize that I can't do this, can't give Luka what he needs because it won't get better, it'll get worse. It'll just widen the wound, and every time my husband touches me I'll remember this, remember giving myself to him when I didn't really want to._

_His eyes are on me, and I can see the shock and the confusion and even some anger in there. "Abby?"_

"_I can't do this." I grab at my shirt and make a lame attempt to cover myself. "I'm sorry, I just…it's not you, I just…I can't do this, Luka." _

_I don't realize I'm crying until he hands me a tissue, his weight creating a dip in the mattress. "You can't what?"_

_Breathing seems like a monumental task right now, and I try, but end up with a half-sob, half-cough. "I can't make love with you, Luka. Not now. Not like this."_

"_Like what?" His voice is low, almost wary._

"_I thought I could, I just wanted to do what was easiest for you and I really did try, Luka, I honestly did because all I want is to keep from hurting you, but I can't…" It hits me then what the real problem is, and why I didn't get it before is a mystery, though maybe I was just trying to not see it. "I can't go back to the way we were. We need to talk, about a lot of things, things I maybe should have said a long time ago, and I need to be honest about everything that's happened because I need to know that you'll love me anyway."_

I think that for all the pain that came out of it, from my inability to just let go and move on, it was right, and if I'd just tried to go along with it, at best, we would have eventually gotten back to a place where things were okay on the surface and we just buried everything that hurt. And at worst, I'd have relapsed. Whether it was a few days or a few months, I think if I'd tried to bury one more thing, and been with him when I wasn't ready, it would have been one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

Looking back, there's a part of me that's just a little proud for realizing that, and standing my ground. And there's a much bigger part that's grateful that I got the chance to find out that he did love me anyway, even if it took awhile for him to get past the hurt.

I reach up and stroke his jaw. "I love you."

"I love you, too." And then I'm up against the wall again. He reaches behind me to undo the zipper of my dress, and despite the fact that I should probably take care to hang it up, or at least not step all over it, I let it slide onto the floor and sort of shove it aside with my foot, and then make sure it has company in the form of Luka's pants and jacket. There's a lot of heavy breathing and tugging at clothes and it's lucky I'm pinned to the wall because if I weren't, I have the feeling I'd be dealing with a concussion. He lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his waist and he murmurs something in Croatian that sounds incredibly sexy, although he could be reading stock reports for all I know. I don't really care, though. I kiss him, and he shifts me between him and the wall and I just hold onto him and let everything else go.

It's hard and fast and even though it should probably be awkward given the logistics, it's not. It's perfect - what we both needed, I guess, or wanted. Or both. He's still holding me and I'm just sort of limp and letting him do the work of standing for the both of us, and I hear my voice come out a little bit hoarse. I don't recall screaming, but really, anything's possible. I wasn't particularly focused on anything besides Luka. "It's been awhile."

"Hmm?" He's breathing like he just finished a marathon, but I'm pretty sure we only got to the room a couple of minutes ago.

"Since we've done...this."

"You mean...against a wall?" Clearly, his brain isn't back to full speed yet.

I laugh. "I meant...seizing the moment, I guess."

"Hard to seize the moment when you've got a baby."

"Mmhmm." My eyes are still closed, and I have the urge to just curl up in his arms while he's holding me like this and go to sleep. The urge fades suddenly, in favor of a realization. "Wow."

"What?" I reluctantly let him set me on the floor.

"I didn't think about it...but this is the first time we've been alone since Joe was born."

He gives me a sidelong glance as he hangs my dress and his suit over the back of a chair. "Really?" He says it like he's fully aware of the fact.

"That's why you wanted to spend the night."

He shrugs, and slides his hand over my hip and around to the small of my back, pulling me up against him. I don't flinch. "I didn't think of it either until a few days ago."

"You could have given me a heads up, you know. I'd have brought nicer pajamas, at least."

"Or…you could just not wear any."

"There's a thought."

He kisses me again, and we fumble our way to the bed and he lays me down, and then there's a shift from that sort of desperation and need to seize the moment to just…being, I guess. He runs his fingertips down my ribcage and hips and I can feel his breath on my neck. Slowly – almost painstakingly so – he lets his mouth trace my jugular vein, across my clavicle and carotid artery, and I know he can feel my pulse racing, until he stops at the top of my sternum, barely touching me, but still it's such an electric feeling, being here, making love with him, because I was so terrified that everything that happened last year would be too much to get past, and we wouldn't ever get to this place.

His eyes are on me the whole time, and when we both come, clutching each other, he whispers to me in Croatian that he loves me, and it sends shivers up my spine because now I understand what he was saying to me every time he'd whisper it when we made love, what he couldn't say to me in English. "Volim te," I murmur.

We lie there, after, my head on his chest, his fingers stroking up and down my back, and it dawns on me that whether either of us intended it or realized it, this is kind of our honeymoon – it's not exactly Hawaii but it's us, alone, just being together and enjoying the kind of intense intimacy that most people imagine defines a honeymoon but most people probably never get. And maybe we'll still go away somewhere, but at least for me, this is enough, more than enough, really. I guess it's fitting that someone got married tonight, even if it wasn't us, and I'm not sure Luka realized what he was doing, exactly, when he had the band play Stevie Wonder, but it fits.

We always did make good use of other people's weddings.


	10. Cry

A/N: So, I know I made that little joke about pestering me to write working, but I should clarify that I was being sarcastic. In truth, it takes this long for me to update because a) I have a busy and high-stress life and b) I don't write unless I'm in the mood and the narrative voice feels right. So while I appreciate the investment that readers have in this story, I would appreciate your patience.

Thanks to Essy for betaing and to those of you who reviewed. To those of you who didn't, I really have very little to look forward to during the work week, so, you know, maybe you review this time. As a disclaimer, all references relating to Luka's past are based on my knowledge of regional history and vain attempts to walk the line(s) separating continuity with the show, historical accuracy, and not turning this into an essay on geopolitical conflict.

* * *

><p><strong>"Cry"<strong>

I'm half asleep, curled up against Luka and thoroughly enjoying the combination of the heat emanating from him and the rhythm of his heartbeat, when he asks. No lead-in, no hesitation, nothing, and for a split second I'm overwhelmed by it, that we've finally made it here, to this point, where he can ask me point-blank.

"Would you go to Mass with me on Sunday?"

I've been sort of waiting for the past couple of weeks for it to come up, because it's not as though it's a secret that the anniversary is coming up. As long as I've known him, he's marked it, either formally or just a few minutes in the hospital chapel when it coincided with a shift. It was just after we'd broken up that he told me, mostly because I'd managed to track him down there, and I don't think he even said the words, but I knew, figured it out. And so I'd sat down next to him and I still don't know what compelled me to do it, besides whatever emotional connection was still there and not too damaged after everything, but it was the first time I'd prayed in about ten years.

After that, every year – even when I was with someone else or he was with someone else – I've remembered the date and tried to let him know in some subtle way that I knew and if he needed to talk about it, that was okay. He didn't take me up on it until we got back together, and I was kind of caught up in finally having Joe home and didn't really think about the fact that it would be different, because suddenly, he was a father again. And so him opening up to me, finally, and telling me that a part of him felt guilty for moving on and being happy – it sort of hit me like a ton of bricks, that he trusted me enough and I guess loved me enough to let me in, even if it was just bits and pieces.

I lean up and look at him and brush my fingers through his hair. "Of course."

* * *

><p>He's still sleeping on Sunday morning when Joe wakes up at six-thirty. I'm surprised, because I sort of expected this to be one of those nights when he doesn't sleep, just tosses and turns until he gives up and I find him in the morning, almost always in Joe's room, doing something completely ordinary like balancing his checkbook or reading the newspaper.<p>

This morning, though, he's just lying there next to me, one arm draped across my waist, looking completely undisturbed. There's something about him when he sleeps – or at least, when he isn't having one of his nightmares – that fascinates me. He just looks so peaceful_,_ as if none of the horrific things he's been through ever happened, and sometimes it kills me that he can't hold onto that once he wakes up.

I go get Joe from where he's standing, looking forlorn, behind his baby gate, one arm around his frog while he reaches up for me with the other. Luka keeps insisting he gets that from me – being completely pathetic in the morning – and it's not like I can argue given that I have enough self-awareness to know I pretty much define "useless" first thing when I wake up.

Sure enough, he's half-asleep on my shoulder before I even walk into the bedroom, and I lay him down on the bed and watch him squirm around until he's wedged right up against Luka. I slide in beside them both and I feel Luka's arm creep around my hips. "What time is it?" he whispers.

"Early. Go back to sleep." Joe grunts softly in his sleep, which I decide to count as agreement. Luka just nods, and leaves his hand on my hip and his eyes on me.

I drift off with a pair of cold, little feet pressed into my stomach, and when I wake up again, it's the same feet thrashing around under the covers and kicking me right in the ribs. His morning demeanor might be from me, but his sleep habits are all Luka.

I leave Luka to fend for himself while I go down to start the coffee. I'm screwing the lid on Joe's Sippy cup when Luka comes downstairs, holding Joe upside-down over his shoulder. Joe shrieks in laughter as Luka flips him right-side-up into his booster sear. "Again!"

"He's like one of those plastic robots," Luka mutters, and takes a mug from me. "How do you call them?"

"How should I know?" I hand Joe his cup.

Luka shrugs. "I don't know. They used to be popular. The little blue and red things that fight?"

"Oh. Those." I glance over at Joe, who is struggling to remove his sock while still clutching his juice. "I don't know what they're called, but I don't think they snore."

"He doesn't snore," Luka says defensively.

"Uh, you both snore. And you both kick."

He takes a carton of eggs out of the fridge. "I'll have you know I've been told I'm very cute in my sleep."

"People say a lot of things when they're naked."

"Mmm." He leans over me and I tilt my head back to kiss him. "They scream a lot of things, too."

"Oh, shut up."

He raises his eyebrows at me. "I don't think I will."

Joe, ever the master of timing, chooses that moment to announce that he has socks on his hands. Luka and I exchange glances. Apparently he doesn't know the appropriate reaction to that, either. I look back at Joe, who's grinning and holding up his sock-covered hands like he's just accomplished something monumental. I clear my throat. "I see that. How are you going to eat your breakfast if you have socks on your hands, though?"

He frowns for a split second and then lifts up one foot. "Wif toes!"

I sit down at the table and tickle the bottom of his foot. "With your toes? Or with Tata's toes?"

Joe giggles, and I can hear Luka chuckle, as well. "My toes."

I catch Luka's eye as we're sitting down and there's a sort of nostalgic sadness to his smile. I can almost see it, the image I know is on replay in his mind, the last time it was like this with Marko and Jasna and Danijela. The last time they ate breakfast together. I wonder, out of nowhere, what they ate that morning. I don't know why, really, except that completely irrational feeling that somehow, knowing those little details will somehow help. That the closer I get to knowing who they were, the less he has to compartmentalize them, build a wall between his first family and the one we have now.

Like he's reading my thoughts, Luka brushes my arm, and then gestures to Joe, who's trying to spear his toast with a fork. "It's pretty great, huh?"

"What is?" I know what he's talking about, I think, but I don't want to be presumptuous.

"Him. Us." He reaches over and covers my hand with his. "All of it."

I stand up and move close enough to him that I can wrap my arms around his neck. He pulls me down, into his lap, and from the corner of my eye, I can see Joe giving us a suspicious look. I press my lips against his forehead. "Yeah," I murmur. "It is."

* * *

><p>"You almost ready?" It feels strange, being dressed up at this hour on a Sunday. I don't know if I should be wearing black. It doesn't feel quite right, dressing like I'm going to a funeral, and I can't really gauge my outfit based on Luka's since he's wearing a suit and tie, and black is sort of the standard for that. In the end, I go with black slacks and a white blouse and figure I've split the difference.<p>

Luka plays around with his tie, trying to straighten an imperfection that I'm guessing only he sees. I put a hand on his arm and turn him gently towards me. "Let me." I smooth down his tie, and I can tell just from the way he's standing, so rigid, all his muscles tensed, that wherever contentment and ease we had this morning is gone.

I offer to drive, but he says he knows the way, so it makes sense if he does. I glance out the mirror as we pull away, Joe happily tossing piles of leaves around the front yard as the sitter tries to coax him toward his soccer ball. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if they'd lived – Jasna and Marko – and Luka had come here with two kids. It's not like I'd have been any less attracted to him, but it would have scared the shit out of me to get involved with something like that, an actual family. But maybe things would have been different for him too, and maybe, somehow, it could have worked. Not perfectly, or the way it worked out now, but I have to imagine that eventually I'd have gotten over that paralyzing fear of intimacy that I'm sure would have been in our way, and maybe Joe would be playing around in the yard with his older brother and sister. Mostly because imagining anything else would mean weighing what we have now against what he lost, and keeping myself from doing that is the only way I've been able to reconcile that guilt I have for the fact that if they'd lived, I'd never have had Luka and Joe.

I rest my hand on his the whole ride, and only move it once he's parked to reach down for my purse. I've got one foot out of the car, buried up to my ankle in leaves, when I realize he hasn't budged. I close the door. "Luka?"

He's staring straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. I reach over and let my hand drift across his shoulder and around to the back of his neck. I can feel the tension in him, emotionally and physically.

"If you need a minute – "

"Don't."

I'm not sure exactly what he's telling me not to do – try to comfort him, touch him, speak – but I decide it's probably best not to ask. Instead, I sit there next to him, just watching out the window, waiting for him to say something. Anything, really.

"I can't," he murmurs, after a while.

"Okay."

"I just…" He lets his hands drift to his lap, and his gaze follows. "I can't go in there, and…" He trails off.

I give him a minute, but he doesn't finish. "And what?"

"It's just – it's pointless, you know?" He pauses. "Empty. It won't change what happened, won't make it any easier. I can't…go in there and grovel before God so he'll forgive me for my sins. I don't want His absolution."

It hangs in the air, the other half of the sentence, and he doesn't have to say it for me to know. _I want theirs._ I must have heard him ask for it a thousand times in his sleep, apologizing over and over.

He runs his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what this was supposed to do. They hated going to Mass, anyway."

"Jasna and Marko?"

He nods. "We'd have to drag them. I'd always end up having to bring them outside partway through because they couldn't keep quiet."

Cautiously, I reach over to take his hand. I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding when he turns his hand palm-up and lets me hold it.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Luka. To me or to them. You didn't do anything wrong." I'm aware that telling him that is like shouting into the wind, but it seems worth it to say all the same.

His thumb traces the back of my hand, and he just sits there, staring at it like it's somehow fascinating. His voice comes out a little dull. "She wanted us to leave when the war started."

"Luka…"

"I told her it would all be over in a few days. That we should stick it out. I don't even know if I believed that, I just didn't want to disrupt my residency."

"For all you know, it would have been just as dangerous to leave."

He shakes his head. "It wouldn't have been. She wanted us to go stay with her aunt in Zagreb. If we'd left when she wanted…they wouldn't have even known there was a war."

"You couldn't have known that, though. You can't…if it were like that, if you knew ahead of time, things would be different. Everything would be." I glance out the window again. "If we could see the future, Joe would have been born full-term and I wouldn't have had a hysterectomy. Probably. Or…I don't know. Maybe if I'd have known, tried to get out of the way, things would have been worse. You can't know, Luka. It's not all black and white."

He looks at me, finally, and looking back at him, there's this crushing sadness, not just for him or for his family, but everything – the prospect of losing Joe, the prospect of never having had an abruption, the prospect that Luka might not be here. "I knew I couldn't save her." His voice is low, almost inaudible. "I knew…I knew if I brought Danijela to the hospital, she'd probably have lived. I just…I couldn't."

"Luka," I murmur. He looks away from me again and closes his eyes. I see a tear roll down the bridge of his nose. Without really knowing why, I reach over and brush my fingers over his face to catch it, like somehow it's going to do some damage if I don't. "It was an impossible choice."

"It wasn't, though. I knew." I hear his breath catch a little. "She was already…there was nothing I could have done. I just…I couldn't do it. Leave her there."

"Look at me." He does, and I instantly regret asking because it's exponentially more difficult not to cry when I'm looking right at him. "If it had been me…if that had been me and Joe, and the choice was to leave him or try…even if there was no chance…I'd have wanted you to try. I would want you to, if that was ever…if you ever had to make that choice."

"Abby…"

"You did what she'd have wanted you to do, Luka. I know I didn't know her, but that's…it's what any parent would want, I think. It's – when I called you, that night that Ames broke in…I knew that was what you'd want me to do, to protect Joe. I hated myself for doing that to you, but I knew if I didn't…there wasn't a choice, Luka. You protect your child because you have to."

He looks at me for a long time, not saying anything, and as much as I like to think I know him, I can't even begin to guess at what he's thinking. His hand is still holding mine, though, and I can feel the beat of his pulse in the veins along the back of his hand. I keep looking back at him until I can't stop a few tears from rolling down my face and realize I need a tissue.

He stops me, though, and reaches over to cup my face in his hand and then he's kissing me, hard, probably harder than it's really appropriate to do in a parked car where people can see through the windows, but I'm not about to stop him. He pulls back, eventually, and brushes the tears off my cheeks. "Thank you."

"I don't – "

"It doesn't…it still hurts, but I guess…I needed to hear it."

"I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner, then. I didn't…I don't want to bring it up. I guess…maybe I should have."

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair again. "I thought I'd gotten past it."

"Past…what happened?"

"Yeah. Past…the stages of grief, or whatever. Accepted it. Except…I think sometimes I'm stuck. I'm still…I'm still _so_ _fucking_ _angry_."

"I know."

"You know?" He glances over at me with this bewildered expression.

"I've known you a long time, Luka. Things have…you've gotten better, stopped letting it define you, but I've always known the anger was there."

"When?" He rubs his temple. "I mean, when did you – "

"Our first date. The look in your eyes, it…I could tell. And sometimes it's still there. After you wake up from a nightmare…I remember that look. Not just anger, but the fear, too."

We sit there in silence again for a while, and he reaches over with one hand, stroking my hair, the other one still gripping mine almost like he's afraid to let go.

"I wish you'd told me." He's almost smiling. "I could probably have used the head's up."

"I figured it was one of those things you had to figure out yourself."

"Maybe."

I let my head fall to one side so I'm facing him, his hand cradling the back of my head. "It's why I keep trying to get you to talk to me about it. I don't – I hate it as much as anybody. It freaks me out to actually work through stuff, but I don't – I'm afraid if we don't, we won't…make it. I'd rather try to talk about it than take the risk."

He nods. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I want…whatever we have to do to make this last. You're right."

"I know." I think he knows I'm not terribly smug about that. I'd rather be wrong and not have to talk about the hard stuff and still be fine.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to…do this. Where to start. Any of it."

I shrug a little. "Neither do I."

"That seems like…it might be a problem."

"You think?" I raise my eyebrows a little. He looks at me a minute and then starts laughing, and then so do I.

I reach over and lace my fingers through his, tugging his arm toward me a little bit, stroking his forearm with my free hand. "I just – I don't know if I'm the right person for you to talk to, Luka. I have…god, absolutely no idea how this goes, or what I'm supposed to say. I just…whatever you want – need – me to do, tell me. If you'd rather talk to somebody else – "

He cuts me off. "I don't want to talk to someone else." He smoothes down his tie. "Maybe it's not fair to you. If you can't…if it's too much, tell me, but I don't want to talk to anyone besides you. I will if I need to, or if you want me to, but…if I'm going to talk about it, it wouldn't feel right with anyone else."

"Yeah. I – I know what you mean."

"Okay." He leans across and presses his mouth against my temple. "Thank you."

"You don't have to – "

"I know I don't have to."

I smile a little and lean into him. "Do you still want to go to Mass?"

"No," he murmurs. "It's not – I thought it would help, I guess, but it doesn't…feel right. I'd rather just be with you. And Joe."

I nod. "If you decide you want to – next weekend or something – just tell me."

"I will."

* * *

><p>I skip my AA meeting. Jill texts me about two minutes after twelve to make sure I haven't managed to fall off the wagon in the three days since she last saw me, and I assure her I haven't and plan to go to a meeting tomorrow night. Luka tries to argue with me when I tell him, insisting he doesn't need a babysitter, to which I respond that unless he plans on paying me twelve bucks an hour for the time we spend together, that's not what I'm doing. He shuts up after that.<p>

Joe's still tearing around the yard, enjoying his new favorite hobby of throwing handfuls of leaves in the air, when we get home. I pay the sitter, who informs me that he has apparently expanded his hobby to include throwing leaves at people, including a couple of our neighbors. I turn around and look at Joe, who, sure enough, launches an armload of leaves at Luka. Or at Luka's knees, really. "I guess we'll work on that," I tell her.

I wait until she's gone and then gather a bunch of leaves myself and toss them all at Luka. I mean, really, I can't be expected to be responsible all the time.

It's nice enough that evening that Luka can use his grill, which is made all the better by the little toy grill I found and could not possibly resist buying for Joe. He watches Luka like a hawk and mimics every single thing Luka does with the real grill and food with his plastic set, right down to making me fill a plastic bucket with water so he can "marinate" some plastic fruit.

Luka just watches, shaking his head and smiling, and ostensibly judging me for being such a sucker. I'm inside getting plates and silverware when I hear the clatter of a pair of non-pretend tongs hitting the deck. "Sh – " I hear Luka start, and then see him glance down at Joe. He catches himself. "Shh."

Joe looks up at him, tosses his spatula on the ground, and holds his finger up to his lips.

"Shh, Tata."

* * *

><p>I let Luka put Joe to bed by himself. Well, not let, really – I'm not one of those mothers, thank god – but I just kiss Joe goodnight and give them their space. I'm getting out of the shower when I hear the bedroom door close, and when I come out, Luka's sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped, head bent, and for a second, I think he's praying. He reaches out a hand, though, and I take it, and sit beside him.<p>

"You remember how you asked me if I was afraid that telling you about my past would scare you away?"

I nod.

"I think, maybe, it does. More than I realized. There's things…I'm ashamed of, that I hate myself for. I just…" He turns his head to look at me, this pained expression on his face that makes my insides ache. "I don't want you to know those things about me. It scares me that if you did…you'd hate me, too."

"Luka," I whisper. I slide one arm across his back and with the other, hold his head in my hand and pull him toward me until he's close enough to kiss. He kisses me back, and we both sort of get lost in the moment, I guess, because a minute later I'm lying back on the bed, the towel that was around me undone, and I realize as I'm pulling his shirt over his head that this is exactly how we managed to avoid talking before. It's extraordinarily easy to get caught up with him like this, and I realize that it's partly because of how much we love each other, but it's not how this is supposed to go. Or needs to go, rather. "Wait," I manage.

He pulls back a fraction of an inch and I can see it in his eyes, that look like the first night we were together, needing that comfort and release of being together, but after a second he nods, like he gets it, too.

I lean up and pull his shirt over me like a nightgown. One of the many conveniences of a tall husband. I look at him, and he shifts into a sitting position. "You can't make me hate you, Luka."

"It scares me," he repeats.

"I know. Trust me, Luka, I know what that's like. I was so terrified of telling you about…everything…last year. I still am. I knew it was hurting you not to know, but I was too afraid that…I wanted to be able to go after you if I had to."

"God, Abby." He covers his face with his hands. "I made vows. I said…we'd help each other when we needed to, and then…I didn't. I wasn't there, and even when you asked for my help – "

"Stop it, Luka." He looks at me. "That's not what I'm talking about. And besides, you told me to stop apologizing for it; you have to, too. I'm talking about figuring out that it wasn't about the things either of us did, it's…I don't know, the sum of the parts, I guess. I don't know how to explain it. But that you don't just stop loving somebody over one thing, or over ten things, or however many. I love you because I know who you are, and that's…what I want. You can fuck up and still be the same person."

He's staring at me, almost like he's stunned, and quite frankly, I am too, because I have no idea when the fuck I figured all of that out, or even that I did. It's about ten times more self-awareness than I've demonstrated over the course of my entire life up until now.

"You're…"

"Extraordinary?"

He smiles. "I was going to say 'right.'"

"Oh."

"But that, too." He pulls me against him, arms wrapped around me so tight it almost hurts, but not quite. I think it'd hurt more if he let go, which he doesn't, thankfully. "I love you."

"I love you, too. That's sort of my point, Luka." I rest my chin on his chest. "You also said when we got married that you offered yourself with all your flaws, and if you recall, I agreed to that. Part of the package."

He lies down against the pillows, still holding me, and I move so I can still sort of see him while he spoons me. "I guess you did."

We lay there for a while, not saying anything else, and then he does talk. I mean really _talk_. He's told me about his past, about the war, before, but always in stories, little snippets, and I guess I always figured it was because that was what he could handle at any one time. Now I think maybe that was as much as he thought I could handle. But he talks about it all, this time, or at least the whole picture, from before the war until he left Vukovar, at which point he stops, mostly because it's two in the morning. I don't cry, or say anything, because I can't. I just take it in and I know it'll take me awhile to process everything, but that's another part of the package, I guess.

When he stops talking, I hold him awhile, and then, eventually, I start kissing him and can't really stop until he takes his shirt off of me and there's green cotton in the way of his mouth. He's slow and sweet and I know I'll be exhausted midway through my shift tomorrow because I was up until three talking and making love with my husband but I damn well know I won't be sorry.


	11. Colorblind

A/N: This may actually be a record for the most times I've rewritten or changed a chapter. This may also be a record for the longest someone has taken to reach the midpoint of a story.

As this apparently needs explaining, there is a magical thing called pan-Asian cuisine that allows one to dine on sushi, fortune cookies, and for reasons I can't explain, French fries, all at once. It is traditionally served in a brown paper bag with plastic silverware, a warm diet Coke, and at least three cartons of rice.

* * *

><p><strong>"Colorblind"<strong>

"Abby?" I hear the door to the porch slide open. "What are you doing out here?"

"I don't know." I shrug. "Thinking, I guess." There's a thud as the door slides shut and then footsteps, and then he's sitting next to me, and suddenly I realize how much I wanted him to come out here.

He reaches over and takes the cigarette from between my index and middle fingers and takes a long drag. I watch as the smoke curls out from his lips, slowly, and there's something strangely intimate about sharing a cigarette. He looks at me and smiles a little. "Just trying to save you from yourself."

"Once drag at a time," I murmur. I remember New Year's Eve, five years ago, sitting on the fire escape outside Susan's apartment trying like hell to avoid being kissed at midnight and listening to the sound of people counting down inside, and on the street below, and everywhere else.

"_You're going to miss it," comes his voice. "Come on in."_

_I don't turn around. "I want to enjoy my last cigarette before my New Year's resolution kicks in."_

"_Quitting smoking?" He sits down next to me, and the stairway is so narrow that he's pressed right up against me and I'm very aware of the fact that I haven't been this close to him since I hugged him goodbye, before he left for the Congo. _

"_Quitting is a big word. I don't want to set myself up for failure." I inhale and let the smoke trail out slowly. "I'm more aiming for a temporary recess."_

_He laughs a little and pries the cigarette from between my fingers. _

"_What are you doing?"_

_He inhales. "Saving you from yourself, one drag at a time."_

_Inside I can hear everyone counting down the last few seconds, four, three, two, and all of a sudden it comes down on me like a tidal wave, how much I miss being kissed. I reach for the cigarette, for one last drag, but he holds it out, away from me, and leans in and then it's not the cigarette I want so much anymore._

To this day, I don't know how much of it was a New Year's tradition and how much of it was really him kissing me, and wanting to, and I guess I've never really asked because I don't want to know. There are enough moments in our collective past where the door was wide open and one or both of us pretended there wasn't still something there. I'd sort of rather just let it be ambiguous and not think about the fact that a couple weeks later, he was with someone else.

He holds the cigarette back out to me and I take it and just watch it burn for a minute, consuming itself.

"Want to talk about it?"

I don't say anything at first, just keep staring at the ash accumulating until my fingers start to feel hot. He takes it from me and stubs it out.

"I lost a patient today," I say, and I'm not talking very loudly but my voice seems deafening compared with the silence. "Nineteen years old. Took a bottle of sleeping pills with a bottle of vodka and then slit his wrists. We found anticoagulants in his system." I look down at my hands. There are black smudges of ash on my fingertips. "His parents found him face-down in the pool. It's hard to imagine someone wanting to die badly enough that they'd plan for contingencies."

I can hear Luka let out a soft breath. He reaches over and takes one of my hands between both of his and waits for me to keep going.

"The parents were just standing there while we worked on him, like they knew. Not that we couldn't save him, but that it was…I don't know. Inevitable. They were so calm. Afterward the father told me it was the third time he'd tried, that they'd done everything they could to help him, got him a psychiatrist, sent him to some wilderness program, committed him, but that once he was eighteen they couldn't force him anymore. That they'd tried getting a court order and all it had done was make things worse."

"He was bipolar," Luka says. It's not really a question, and I don't answer it. He leans over and kisses my shoulder. "It's not always like that."

"Sometimes it is. A lot of times. And I just…I think about if Joe…" I can't bring myself to say it out loud. "If he's sick, if someday he's going to be that unhappy, and we won't be able to do anything. And I wonder if he'll hate me for doing that to him."

"You didn't do anything to him but give him a life."

I shake my head. "What if the one I gave him isn't what he wants, though? I just…I can't imagine not having him. I don't want to, but that's what I keep coming back to, whether someday he's going to hate me for having him, knowing it was a possibility."

"He won't."

"You don't know that, Luka." I shiver, and he pulls me closer. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't know what it's like to be terrified that you'll wake up one day and have your first manic episode. And even worse, that you won't realize it. That you'll lose the ability to make rational decisions. I was so terrified that would happen to me. I kept waiting to go from being Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde, and even when I was fine, I was terrified it was happening and I just didn't realize it. And I _hated_ Maggie for doing that to me."

He's quiet for a little while, and so am I. Part of me wonders if he knows that it wasn't that I didn't want a baby, because I did, I just wouldn't let myself acknowledge it because it would mean going back on the promise I'd made to myself when I was thirteen years old that I'd never be so selfish in wanting a baby that I'd curse it with that possibility. Eighth-grade biology was sort of a revelation, as far as all that goes, and realizing that there was this toxic thing in me and passing it on to someone else would be the worst thing I could ever do. And I think up until the moment I took that test and knew I wasn't just pregnant, but pregnant with Luka's child, I'd fooled myself into believing I didn't want that.

"I was always taller than Niko," he says. "I think starting when I was eight or nine. We'd play soccer together, and I'd be faster and kick farther, and his friends would tease him that his baby brother could beat him up. Which I could have, if I didn't think my mother would kill me." He turns my hand over in his and traces circles on my palm. "We had this school tournament, one year, for the World Cup. All the classes were given a country, and instead of playing by eliminating classes, we'd play based on how the real teams did, to make it fair for the younger students. My class drew the Netherlands, and Niko's drew Argentina."

There's a pause, and I realize he's waiting to see if I grasp some underlying significance. I clear my throat. "I have absolutely no idea what that means, Luka."

He nods slowly, and there's a twitch of a smile on his face. "They ended up as the two teams in the final. In the real game, Argentina won, three goals to one. But in our game, the Netherlands won. One to none. It had been tied almost the whole game, and then – "

"You kicked the winning goal."

He nods again. "Niko just stood there, in the middle of the field, after it was over, and my classmates were hitting me on the back and cheering, and I knew it was driving him crazy but I didn't care. I liked being the center of it, right up until he punched me."

"He punched you?"

"He split my lip open." He bites it gently. "After they got done yelling at him that night, he told our mother he hated her for making him short and that he hated my father for making me tall." He pulls me closer, one arm around me, and I lean in and just let him hold me. He kisses my head. "He could hate us for a lot of things, Abby. I know it's not the same, but still…there's always risks, always gambles that you take when you make a baby. It doesn't mean you shouldn't."

We're both quiet again, just sitting there together until my fingers and toes start to go numb and I stand up and pull him along after me. I look up at him as the light flickers on inside. "I want you to know something."

"Okay." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

"It's going to be very, very hard for me to avoid bringing that up the next time I see your brother."

* * *

><p>We're in bed the next night, reading – or rather, him reading, me staring at the same paragraph of a journal article for twenty minutes – when he asks if I'm okay. I shrug. "Yeah. I guess."<p>

He puts down his book. "Still thinking about the kid?"

I nod. "I just…I can't imagine how it must be for the parents. I keep seeing their faces, and they looked…not relieved, but like…"

"Glad that he's not suffering anymore," Luka murmurs.

"Yeah." I sigh a little. "I'm kind of thinking of giving up on the whole idea of sleeping. It didn't work out too well last night."

He reaches down and takes my hand, just sort of playing with my fingers. "I know. I sleep next to you, remember?"

"Sorry. I didn't realize – "

"Don't apologize."

"Okay." I shift a little closer to him and he wraps one arm around me and sort of pulls me toward his chest. I lean my head against him and close my eyes. "Doesn't it scare you?"

"Does what scare me?"

"That he'll be bipolar."

He runs his fingers through my hair. "It does. But not more than anything else that might happen to him."

I wonder for a moment if he's referring to what did happen to his children, to Jasna and Marko, which of course is a thousand times worse than – well, anything. But for all the anger and regret and everything else he has, I think he's able to separate our marriage and our child from what he had before. Sometimes I think I'm the one who can't, that I'm still afraid of saying the wrong thing or reminding him of what happened. It's stupid, I guess, because it's not like there's ever a time when he's not aware of it. But it's like how, when people would ask if Joe was our first when I was pregnant, I could never answer them. Luka never seemed bothered or like he felt guilty for answering that yes, it was our first, which, I mean, was technically true – he was our first together. But I couldn't say it, because it felt like pretending Marko and Jasna never existed.

One of the many items still on my list of things to work out.

We sit there, him supporting the weight of me even as I do less and less of the work of holding myself up. Eventually he shuts off the lamp and slides down so his head is on the pillow and mine is cradled in the space between his shoulder and his chin. One of his arms holds me against him, and the other is draped over his chest so that he can run his fingers up and down my arm, barely even touching me, just making enough contact that I know it's there.

Eventually his fingers stop moving and it's quiet enough that I can hear him run his tongue over his lips. "I'd rather take the risk of him being bipolar than have a baby with someone else and know he wouldn't be." He pauses. "I probably should have told you that a long time ago."

"It's because you want him to have my disarming wit, isn't it?"

"I'm serious, Abby." His fingers inch under my palm and clasp our hands together. "I thought, for a long time, being a father again would make me…it would fix something. Maybe it was selfish to want that, for those reasons. I don't know, I just know…it doesn't matter what risks there are. It's right, because it's us."

I don't say anything for a while, just lay there, head on his chest, feeling his breath on my forehead and how every so often his fingers relax or contract around mine. Eventually, I disentangle my hand from his so that I can reach up and run it along the line of his jaw, over his cheek, feel the twitch of his pulse under my fingers. I can feel him smile.

"Thank you."

"I wasn't saying it to make you feel better, Abby."

"I know. I mean, thank you for…thinking those things. About us. Me. It's hard, sometimes. Not…knowing."

He reaches around to spread his palm across the base of my head and pull me towards him, and he's barely kissing me at first but it's enough that I'm not thinking about anything else but how unbelievably stupid I must've been not to have taken the chance that night on Susan's fire escape and kissed him right into the new year.

* * *

><p>He calls me the next day at work, just before noon. "Hey." His voice is soft. "How are you?"<p>

"I'm…okay. Busy morning, but, you know, mostly just minor stuff. So it was okay."

"Good." I can almost hear the lopsided smile and the hair falling onto his forehead. "So I was thinking, if you weren't too busy, I'd come there and we could get lunch."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah…I mean, I'm not teaching until two, and it's slow here…so if you wanted – "

I drop my head a little so that it's not glaringly obvious to everyone in the ambulance bay that I'm smiling so hard my lips might start to bleed. "That'd be nice. Thanks."

"I'll be there in…I don't know, twenty minutes, probably. Want me to pick something up?"

"Sure."

He laughs. "I mean, what do you want me to pick up?"

"Oh. I don't care, whatever you want." I catch myself. "_Not_ from the Eastern European deli, though."

"Okay. Fine. I'll bring something boring. Without scales."

"Or a head."

"Or a head," he repeats. "What about – "

"No tails, either." I feel like I'm a teenager, sometimes, with these little mock arguments that are really just flirting. Like he's pulling my pigtails and I'm pretending not to like the attention. "I'll see you when you get here."

"Okay."

"Luka?"

"Yes?" He sort of draws out the word.

I can't help thinking about when we were first together, right in the beginning of things, and then Maggie showed up and I tried, really tried, to trust him enough to talk about it. Except he was terrible at picking up hints and I was even worse at just coming out and asking for what I needed. And how we're here, eight years later, and I don't need to drop a hint or ask him, he just knows. Half the time he knows what I need before I realize it, myself.

Time is a funny thing like that.

"Just…thanks."

* * *

><p>We walk a couple of blocks and eat by the water, and it reminds me of Chicago and County and how when I was pregnant, he'd make sure I took a break for lunch every day. Even when he wasn't on, he'd bring me something on whole grain with amino acids and calcium and all that, probably to make up for the stash of Ring-Dings and Fritos in my locker that he pretended not to know about. It was kind of annoying at the time, but I think he knew that I appreciated it and that feeling like I had someone to take care of me when I needed it made the whole baby thing a lot less terrifying.<p>

I think he definitely knows how much I appreciate that, now, from the way I can't stop touching him and smiling the whole time we're sitting there on the bench together.

"Want a bite?" He holds out a sushi roll with some sort of unidentifiable fish and gooey stuff in it.

"I'm going to stick with my chicken, thanks."

He stuffs it in his mouth and I wrinkle my nose at him. "What?" He asks me through a mouthful of food.

I roll my eyes and hand him a napkin. "You're worse than Joe, you know that?"

He swallows. "It's fine, when you have good hair, nobody worries about your table manners. He has good hair, too."

"I'm not arguing. I'm just saying it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to set an example."

"And remind me who taught him to throw his cereal?"

"That was a slip in judgment. And besides…you deserved it."

His fingers brush against mine. "I see." I don't say anything, just eye him as I take another bite. He clears his throat. "So, I was wondering…whether you had any plans for next weekend."

"You mean besides the royal ball and tea with the Queen? No, I'm wide open."

"Ha-ha."

"Come on, Luka. You know my weekend plans. Same as yours – sleep, play with Joe, do errands, and if there's time, have amazing sex."

He grins. "Right. Well – besides the errands, I guess…how would you feel about doing all that in New York? There's a medical conference there next weekend and the faculty mentor that was supposed to go had to cancel at the last minute."

"They asked you to go instead?"

"I helped out on the paper, so yeah, they asked if I'd go. I don't have to, I just thought it might be nice."

"Nice for…who? I mean, I get wanting to help, and New York is…I don't know, New York, it's just that…we have Joe. I don't think he'd be all that happy to be stuck in a car for half the weekend."

A couple of squirrels are closing in on us, eyeing our lunch, and Luka unwraps a fortune cookie and throws it off into the grass. "Here. Shoo!"

"You know they're just going to come back."

He sighs. "Probably. There's a train from Boston to New York that takes about three hours."

"I guess he might like that."

"You don't have to decide now. I said I'd let them know tomorrow. It's – I won't be upset if you don't want to, I just thought it might be fun."

I nod slowly. "Just – promise me that there's no ulterior motive, here. You're not going to, like, book us a suite at the Four Seasons or anything, right?"

He looks at me blankly. "What?"

"It's just, I love you, and I love that you do romantic stuff, but after the whole surprise wedding thing…I don't want to say I don't trust you…"

He laughs. "No. No surprises, I promise. Just a conference."

"I didn't say _no_ surprises. It is New York, after all." I nudge his foot with mine. "It's not like dinner at Le Bernardin would be the _worst_ thing in the world."

"Le Bernardin, huh?"

"Or Jean Georges. I don't want to be picky."

He runs his fingers through his hair. "How do you even know about these places?"

"Some cooking channel. It's always on in the doctors' lounge."

"I see. So…Jean Georges or…what was it?"

"Luka." He looks at me, eyebrows furrowed. Crap. I realize he might've actually caught on to what that tone of voice means. I clear my throat. "I'm just kidding around. Don't take this the wrong way, but unless the head chef comes down with a mysterious illness between now and next weekend that only you can diagnose, there isn't a chance in hell we could get a reservation at either of those places. Besides." I lean against him, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders. "I sort of like this whole…casual dining thing. It suits us, don't you think?"

He rests his chin on my head. "I do."

* * *

><p>I'm late to my meeting on Sunday, thanks entirely to how conducive being curled up with my two favorite men on a cold day, listening to Luka's voice as he reads aloud, is to napping. It's not until Joe starts tugging on my shirt and demanding I wake up that I realize we averted a real disaster – Luka's snoring softly and it's honestly a miracle that Joe didn't use the opportunity to destroy the entire house. I leave an irritated toddler and a bleary-eyed husband to their Legos and have to sneak into the meeting and sit at the back. Not that I really think I'm fooling anyone, but it's crowded today, so even if I didn't feel like I was sneaking into math class late, I don't think it's all that likely I'd get a seat up front anyway.<p>

I'm half-listening to a woman talk about her teenage daughter while I roll around in my head whether I want to share, myself – I mean, I know that it'd probably be a good idea given that I still haven't slept through the night since that kid came in, but there are an awful lot of people here, some of them faces I don't recognize, and there's a voice in my head telling me that maybe I should just let somebody else share, somebody whose problems are more of a threat to their sobriety.

I also know that it's an excuse, because even after this long and after rehab, I still like sharing about as much as I like going to the dentist. Having everyone's attention on me makes me feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, except being burnt to a crisp by the sun's rays wouldn't be so bad when the alternative is exposing my insecurities to a bunch of relative strangers.

A girl in the row in front of me who I don't recognize shifts in her seat, and I don't know quite what it is – maybe the way she keeps fidgeting, maybe that she's biting her nails, maybe just some sort of alcoholic's radar – but I can tell just from looking that this is her first time at a meeting. I guess, thinking back to my first time, I can recognize it because there's a certain discomfort that just oozes out of a person when they come for the first time. Shame, fear, denial, anxiety, every crappy feeling you can think of hits you like a ton of bricks the first time. I was twenty-five the first time I went to a meeting and after that it took me two years to work up the nerve and self-awareness to go back. I don't know what was worse – going to that first meeting or going back after I'd thrown away six years of sobriety so I could prove to myself I was normal.

The woman who was sharing finishes and another woman starts to talk, and she gets about three sentences in before the girl in front of me grabs her bag and bolts. A couple of heads turn and there are a few looks of concern, but it's not like it's anything new. I don't know quite why I decide to take it upon myself – maybe my desire to avoid sharing really is that strong – but I get up a minute later and walk outside to find her sitting on the curb, knees drawn to her chest, huddled in her sweatshirt and smoking a clove cigarette.

I sit, far enough away that she has room but not so far that I have to raise my voice for her to hear me. "The first meeting always sucks."

She turns. I hadn't seen her face up until now and the first thing that strikes me is how much eyeliner she's wearing. I'm sure there's some sort of metaphor that's appropriate, about trying to hide or something, but it's not really the time to contemplate the abstractions of the English language. "How'd you know?"

"I've had a couple of first meetings, myself. Pretty much the only thing that compares is that dream where you show up to school and realize you're naked."

There's the faintest hint of a smile on her face, so small I might be imagining it. "I'm not sure this is the right place for me. I don't…I guess I just wanted to see what it was like."

"Can I give you a piece of advice?"

She shrugs. "Sure."

"If you're not sure it's the right place for you, that usually means it is." She doesn't look at me, and I can't tell from the way her hair is falling in her face if she's rolling her eyes or what. "I know it doesn't seem like it the first time you walk in, but there's a lot of people here for a lot of different reasons. There are people who've been coming for years and they're still not sure it's the right place. But if it helps…it doesn't really matter."

"I don't think it's supposed to make you want to go get shitfaced."

"Probably not in theory." I scuff my toe on the pavement. "But if you don't walk out of at least one meeting feeling like you could use a drink, or even wishing someone would clobber you over the head with a bottle of tequila, you're not doing it right."

"Guess I didn't see that on the website." A piece of strawberry-blonde hair that looks like it's the texture of straw whips around in the wind and she reaches up to pull her hair into a bun, fastening it with a rubber band. The cigarette hangs out of her mouth as she talks. "I appreciate it and all, but I think I just want to go home."

I look at my watch. "Meeting's going to be over in half an hour. Might as well come inside."

She chews on her lower lip. "I'm not so sure."

"Tell you what – come back inside, sit in the back with me and judge what everyone else is wearing, and if you still hate it when the meeting is over, I'll buy you a beer."

She turns to look at me. "Seriously?"

"No, but that would be pretty funny." I smile, and this time I'm almost positive I see her doing the same. "Cup of coffee, maybe."

"Yeah, the coffee here is…no offense, it just tastes like shit."

"I know. It's how we keep folks from coming just for the snacks."

She stands up, finally, and shrugs again. "Okay."

"Okay," I repeat, and stand up. "I'm Abby, by the way."

"It's…I mean, is it okay to – "

"First names are okay. It's not quite as strict as witness protection."

"Oh. Um, Caroline." She rolls her eyes. "My parents were big Neil Diamond fans."

I hold open the door and she follows me back inside. As we're sitting down I see Jill looking back at me from a few rows ahead with her eyebrows raised, and I can't tell if she's impressed or wondering what the hell I think I'm doing walking out, even if it is with the best of intentions. I give her a little smile, trying to tell her I get it, whatever it is. And I do get it, exactly what I've just done, not just reaching out but sacrificing a few minutes of a meeting to help somebody else. It's not entirely noble. I know that what I need to be doing is focusing on getting to that one-year mark, and that everything else is a threat to my sobriety that I shouldn't take. The thing is, though, I remember the last times I got sober and how I felt at this point, almost a year into it, and this time it feels completely different.

I'm not saying there aren't days I'm tempted by the thought of a drink, but it's not overwhelming. When I have those days, when I feel like I need a drink, I've gotten to the point that my first instinct isn't to have one, it's to go to a meeting. Maybe I'm setting myself up for something, but I don't think I am, and so if I can help this girl, it feels worth that little bit of risk.

I guess that's part of the thing with AA – weighing your own needs against the need to pay it forward. With everything that's happened over the past year, the people in rehab, Janet, Luka, Pratt, all those people supporting me in various ways, I feel like I've got this monumental debt of gratitude and if I _don't_ pay it forward, there's something being lost. Like all the times my first sponsor peeled me off the ceiling of the ladies' room and back into a meeting, all the late-night, tearful phone calls to Janet, going out of my mind without Luka and Joe there with me, all the times I know will come, inevitably, when I'm having a rough time and Jill will drop everything to help me through it – it seems like I'm taking all that for granted if I don't do the same for somebody else.

And I have this one, monumental thing working in my favor that I didn't have the last time, or the time before – that when I'm having a rough day, when I'm going 'round in circles, stuck on something that's bothering me or that's scaring the shit out of me or whatever, I don't have to deal with it alone. Being able to look at Luka and have him know exactly what I'm feeling and what I need and letting him hold me, trusting him and trusting myself enough to talk to him about it, and being able to hold my son and feel that kind of intense love for something that for just a minute makes everything else disappear, that's a big deal. Not just because Luka is there for me or because he and Joe make me so indescribably happy, but because the risk of losing them and having come so close to having to live without them – my desire to hold onto that outweighs the temptation of a drink.

Really, it outweighs everything.


	12. Say Anything

A/N: Really, really long chapter ahead. Thanks to Essy for her patience betaing and putting up with my response to the first go-around. I wrote one of the scenes out of this chapter about eighteen months ago, during a particularly boring day of work, and have been waiting and waiting to use it. A love note to New York seemed an appropriate setting. That said, screw you, Hurricane Sandy.

In order of importance, my requests to readers are as follows: 1) if you are American, remember to vote on Tuesday, 2) review so that I feel validated and don't resort to wearing black stockings and crying in the corner of my room while misinterpreting Tori Amos lyrics and drawing spider tattoos on myself in Sharpie, and 3) do not "favorite" 39 of my stories in one sitting, thus flooding my inbox, and fail to leave a review. It's annoying, and that's how I miss good Groupons.

* * *

><p><strong>"Say Anything"<strong>

We take the train to New York on Friday evening – I'm able to switch the last few hours of my shift with another attending so that we can catch a seven o' clock train, which means that Joe will be awake just long enough to be mesmerized by the whole experience and fall asleep before he loses interest. It's too dark for him to see anything out the window, but Luka holds him on his lap anyway, and points to pretty much anything with lights on it, which Joe seems to be perfectly content with. I watch them for a while, just enjoying the looks on both of their faces, and then Luka and I switch places and he hands Joe over to me. He's asleep before the second page of _The Very Quiet Cricket_, which long ago lost its chirping capabilities, and I drift off a couple of minutes later.

I wake up with my head on Luka's chest and his arm around me, and a damp spot on my shirt where Joe's head is. I'm not exactly sure at what point he's supposed to outgrow the drooling phase, but I wouldn't mind if it happened soon. Luka hands me a tissue and asks if I want him to take Joe.

"No." I wipe off my shirt and Joe's chin and then lean my head back against Luka. "We're good."

"Okay." I can feel him smiling against my head as he kisses it. It's strange – I've seen so many couples our age who look like they've completely outgrown any sort of affection or, well, desire, but I guess in the scheme of things, even if we have been together in some capacity, either as a couple or as friends, for eight years now, we're still technically newlyweds. I mean, I don't think all that time we weren't together counts in that respect, because we've only really lived together, in one house, as husband and wife for about six months. Sometimes I do think it's strange to be almost forty and in the same place, chronologically, as some twenty-somethings, but I also know that we've got a hell of a lot on twenty-somethings as far as a meaningful relationship goes. And I hope we don't outgrow the affection or desire and turn into one of those couples that are basically just roommates with a child. I don't think we will, but at the same time, I didn't think we'd ever be the sort of couple who lived in the suburbs and had playdates with our son and his best friend and her gay fathers who bring over quiche Lorraine and macaron. And I figured if we did, I'd be in the kitchen throwing back Percocet and vodka tonics, but I'm not. And I'm not even tempted these days. "Want some chocolate?"

I glance at him, and he frowns. "What?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

He laughs and pulls a candy bar from the bag under the seat. "Here."

"I've kind of got my hands full."

"Right." He breaks off a piece and holds it in front of my mouth for me. "Better?"

"Mmhmm." It occurs to me that this could be a very sexy moment, were it not for the drooling toddler sprawled on my lap and the train full of people. "How long did I sleep?"

"Not long. Still an hour to go. Bored?"

I rest my head back in the space where his shoulder meets his chest and let him feed me another piece of chocolate. "Not really. I can't remember the last time I didn't actually have something to do."

"Almost like a vacation, huh?"

"Almost." He holds out another piece of chocolate, but I shake my head and watch him eat it, himself. "You still owe me a trip somewhere tropical, you know. New York in November doesn't count."

I feel him laugh. "Yeah, I know."

"Well you better make it happen soon, before I get incredibly old and can't wear a bikini without scaring children."

"Never going to happen," he murmurs.

"Liar."

We're both quiet for a little while, and I just watch Joe sleep, twitching every so often. He's always done that, not in any way that makes me worry, just…I don't know. An active dreamer, I guess. Luka does it too, on his good nights, when he's sound asleep. I like those little things they share.

He runs the backs of his fingernails up and down my arm, over and over, and I kind of have to think if I ever developed some kind of anxiety disorder, I wouldn't need medication, just for him to do this for a few minutes, and I'd be fine. It's soothing, not just the rhythm or being touched, but because I know that when he's doing it, it means he's relaxed, too.

I drift off again and when I wake up, we're pulling into the station. Joe starts to whine but stops abruptly and pulls himself up on my lap to look out the window. "Look!" His palms are leaving imprints on the glass and I can see a couple of people on the platform looking back at him and smiling. He pounds his hand against the window. "Look!"

"Yes, I see the people."

"No." He smacks his hand on the window again. "Dere, 'dat look!"

"I don't – oh. The doggy?"

Luka starts to collect our things. "We're going to get off the train, okay?"

"No."

"Yes," I tell him. "We're going to go and ride in a taxi."

"My doggy ride?"

"I don't think that dogs are allowed in taxis. And that doggy needs to go with his family. Come on."

"No. Mine." He bats my hand away as I start to pick him up. "My doggy."

I suppose I should be glad that he's starting to grasp the concept of ownership and using the correct possessive pronouns and all that, but I decide I'll hold off on congratulating him on his mastery of language until after the impending tantrum. "Joe, we need to get off the train now. Don't you want to ride in the taxi?"

"No."

"Hey. Joe." Luka crouches down and tugs on his overalls just a little. Joe turns his head just enough that he can make eye contact. "You know what we can do if we go in the taxi?"

"No." He looks a little uncertain, like he's not sure if he's answering or disagreeing. His eyes go back to the dog.

"Well, like when you ride in the car, you can see the street outside. But here, you get to see lots of lights and very big buildings." Joe is almost completely facing Luka at this point. "You want to see if we can pick the biggest building?"

"Maybe Buzz can help," I add.

Joe looks from Luka to me, back to the dog, which is still sitting outside on the platform, and then back to Luka. "I help?"

Luka grins. "Yeah. Come on, you want Mama to carry you?"

"No." Joe clambers off my lap. "Tata up."

Luka rolls his eyes a little, but grabs Joe and hoists him up along with the bags. I reach out and grab the bigger of the two from him.

"Equal partnership." I shrug. I feel like I ought to be a little put out that Joe chose Luka over me, but really, I'm not. I think it's probably one of my favorite things, seeing how much Joe loves Luka, and I know he loves me too, and he demands our attention pretty evenly. But there's something about seeing that, the way Luka is with him and how Joe responds, that I can't explain. Reassures me that they're both happy. I guess it feels like kind of an accomplishment, that I was able to give Luka that feeling and that smile and that it's replicated on Joe.

* * *

><p>I wake up on Saturday morning to find Joe snuggled contentedly beside me, with absolutely no clue how he got there. He has some magical ability to get on the bed without waking either me or Luka, and I'm honestly not sure if I'm facilitating the process in my sleep. It's entirely possible that I have developed the ability to pick him up and tuck him under the covers without ever waking up.<p>

I slide Joe over just enough so that his elbow isn't digging into my liver – a hobby carried over from his days as a fetus – and reach over to check my watch. Quarter after seven. I hear the shower go off, and a few minutes later, Luka emerges, a towel wrapped around his waist.

I don't think that's an image I'll ever get tired of looking at.

"Hey," he whispers. "Go back to sleep. I'm meeting some of the students for breakfast, I can bring you something back."

"It's okay, Joe's going to be up soon. Unless you don't want to be seen with us."

He grins, and ignores my comment. "I said I'd be down at seven thirty. Do you want to meet us when you're ready?"

I slide out of bed, prompting Joe to pull his arms and legs close to his body like a turtle going into its shell and screw up his face in a scowl. He blinks sleepily and looks around, trying to work out what's different. "Mamaaa?" He looks at me unhappily and reaches up. "Mamaaa?"

"He really is just like you in the morning," Luka mutters.

"Incredibly adorable?" I sit down on the bed and Joe immediately scoots closer to me, sort of burrowing against my side. "You want to get dressed so we can go down and have breakfast with Tata?"

He shoves his thumb in his mouth and nods his head. "No."

"No? You don't want breakfast?"

He shakes his head. "Want."

"Okay…" I glance at Luka, who is very invested in getting dressed without getting involved in this. "You want breakfast?" He nods. "Are you being silly right now?"

He grins around his thumb and shakes his head. "No silly."

"I don't understand. Can you tell me what you want to do?"

"You go breakfast." He grabs hold of my shirt and pulls himself up. "Now."

"I see." I glance at Luka and shrug. "Do you care if I show up to breakfast not showered and totally unglamorous?"

"It's fine. I'll just tell the students you're the nanny."

I grab a pillow off the bed and throw it at him, which Joe finds absolutely hilarious. "Again!"

Luka laughs, and all of a sudden I'm back in his hotel room eight years ago and he's reading the apartment listings and I'm terrified by the idea of living with him because it means letting go of the measure of control that keeps me from getting hurt, and admitting to myself that he has the ability to do that.

Luka leans over me and I tilt my head back so he can kiss me. "The hot, younger nanny, I mean."

"Mmhmm."

He kisses me again and rests his forehead on mine. "Just…maybe brush your teeth first, yeah?"

* * *

><p>After breakfast, which is less a meeting between Luka and his students and more an opportunity for Joe to play to an audience, we head back upstairs so I can shower while Luka gets the grape jelly out of Joe's hair and changes into a suit. We walk around the conference area with Luka for a bit until Joe starts to whine because he's not allowed to touch the displays or run around, at which point Luka goes off to some presentation on triage in the field and Joe and I head off in search of a merry-go-round that's rumored to be nearby.<p>

We eventually find it, and Joe is in total awe and I have to say no to riding a fourth time because I'm very close to throwing up. I do manage to get a picture of him for Maggie, which I'm hoping will make up for the dead camera battery on Halloween. We wander around Bryant Park for awhile and spend about ninety seconds listening to a children's story reading until Joe decides he's much more interested in watching people play fetch with their dogs. I guess it's nice that "fetch" has a broad audience appeal.

We head back to the hotel lobby to meet Luka for lunch, and I'm sort of spacing out and staring at this really ugly painting, when I hear my name. I feel the hairs on the nape of my neck prickling, and sure enough, when I turn around, there he is.

Shit. Not the husband I was hoping for.

"Richard," I manage. My grip on Joe's stroller tightens. I don't know if it's a defensive mechanism or subconscious preparation to use it as a weapon. I'm suddenly very aware that I'm wearing a pair of jeans I bought when my last name was still Wyczenski.

"What are you doing here?" He seems pleasant enough, and I decide that I can act like an adult, too, instead of just kicking him in the knee and running away.

I shrug. "It's a medical conference."

"Oh." He looks a little bit surprised. "So you finished med school, then?"

I briefly reconsider the kneecap plan, but Joe might be a little traumatized by witnessing that. I grit my teeth instead. "Yes. I'm actually an attending now."

"Wow. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"So are you presenting, then? I didn't see you in the program." He smiles, and not a particularly nice one. "I'd have noticed, it being my name and all."

"Wrong name," I lie. So, technically, my last name is still Lockhart, but I decide he doesn't need to know that.

"You got married again?" The "again" is definitely not necessary.

I hold up my hand, and it takes work to show him all five fingers and not just the middle one. "Yup."

"Congratulations again. And – so is this…?" He gestures to Joe.

"My son." I decide he's not deserving of knowing Joe's name.

"Wow," he repeats. "I didn't imagine you with a kid. You never wanted one."

_With you, asshole._ Being the bigger person here is becoming more and more of a challenge. "Things change." Like who I'm married to.

"Just the one, then?"

I can't help it. I nod, and look at him as coolly as I can manage. "For now." I'm extremely thankful that Joe isn't vocal enough yet to call me out on my creative half-truths. "How about you, still married?" Probably still cheating, if he is. I'm really wallowing in moral high ground, here.

Before he manages to answer in what I'm sure would have been a delightfully sanctimonious manner, I feel a hand on the small of my back and hear my name. This time, it doesn't raise my hackles. "Sorry I'm late, they - " Luka stops and it takes a minute to register exactly what is going on. "Richard?"

It takes Richard a little longer, but I don't think it's particularly easy to forget someone like Luka. There're not a lot of six-foot-four Croatians wandering around stateside. "Luke, was it?" I'm pretty sure he knows it's not.

"Luka." Being a better person than either of us, Luka holds out his hand. Richard shakes it after a moment, and I have to relish the look on his face. I'm pretty sure the one on mine is the definition of smug. I clear my throat and give Luka a look that I hope Richard still recognizes. But then again, I don't think I ever looked at him quite the way I look at Luka.

"We should get going." I turn to Richard. "Nice to see you."

"You, too. Congratulations on everything, again."

Luka waits until we're outside before asking, "What just happened?"

"Oh, you know. Friendly, mature reunion between exes."

"That wasn't what I'd call friendly."

I sigh. "I might've told him that I'd taken your last name and that we had plans to make lots and lots of babies together."

"Excuse me?" He actually stops walking.

"I just...he called it 'his' name. And I didn't like the way he said it. I didn't...it was a white lie, that's all. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of owning that part of who I am."

"And...the other thing?"

"He doesn't need to know we can't. It's none of his business. I don't know, he just looked at Joe like...like he was an accident. I could see it on his face. Like he didn't believe I'd ever actually _intend_ to have a child."

"So you told him we were planning to have a bunch more."

"I more implied it."

"I'm just a little..." His hand brushes my arm gently. "We never even talked about another. And you implied...lots?"

I sigh. "I wasn't being entirely rational. I just wanted to make a point."

"Okay." We walk in silence for another block, and then I feel him take my hand and squeeze it gently. "If we could...I know this isn't the place to talk about it, I just...we never - "

"Luka, what just happened was me being completely irrational and not at all mature about things. If we could...I'd probably have asked Richard to watch Joe, dragged you upstairs, and demanded you get me pregnant on the spot. It wouldn't have had anything to do with actually thinking things out or acting like a responsible adult. He gets under my skin and he makes me...I don't know. Say or do things I normally wouldn't." I squeeze his hand back. "I'm sorry I freaked you out."

"It's okay. But, just...maybe we should talk about this stuff. Rationally, I mean."

I nod. "Okay."

"What you said about him owning a part of you...you know that's not true, right?"

"He has an incredible ability to make me feel small, Luka. It's part of what made it impossible for us to have a relationship." Among many, many other things. "Half an hour ago, it didn't matter to me that it was his last name to begin with. But...he just reminded me that it still associates me with him. It's this sort of deference. Like, if I'd actually been presenting at the conference, our names would have been right next to each other in the program. It still ties me to him in some way."

"But...Abby, you're not his wife, anymore. Your medical license says 'Abby Lockhart,' our marriage license, Joe's birth certificate...it's not his, anymore."

"And I'd have completely agreed with you before I ran into him. I don't know how to explain it, he just...he knows how to get to me. Maybe he didn't even mean to, but he did."

"Well..." We stop outside the restaurant. "Look. I don't care if it was his, once. It's who you've been as long as I've known you. But if you really don't want it...you can always have mine."

* * *

><p>We don't talk about it anymore after that - Luka tells me about the presentation over lunch, and it strikes me just how proud he sounds, like they're his own kids. I don't think either of us realized just how perfect this job would be for him, able to be a doctor but also interact with people outside a trauma room and have an influence on their lives. I'm actually pretty proud of him, for that.<p>

I fill Luka in on our plans for the afternoon - visiting FAO Schwarz, because I sort of feel obligated as a parent to bring Joe to the Mecca of toys even if it will give me a migraine, and then the Central Park Zoo, because, again, it's my obligation as a parent to bring joy to my child's life. Plus, I'm pretty sure a toy store and the zoo will ensure he's out cold by seven, which will make things much more convenient for everyone, as Luka successfully managed to bribe one of his students to babysit so we can go out.

"Have you decided where you're taking me for dinner?" I nudge his foot a little under the table.

He shrugs noncommittally. "Maybe."

"Maybe as in, it's a surprise, or maybe as in, you forgot to make a reservation and we'll be the best dressed couple at Burger King?"

Joe holds up a French fry as if to illustrate the latter. Luka leans down like he's going to eat it, and Joe pulls it away with a maniacal giggle, accidentally flinging it onto the floor. I guess we have to work on the follow-through.

"Maybe like don't ask so many questions. And stop pretending you don't go to the drive-through for French fries on your way home."

"I do not."

He gives me a look. "Then why does the car smell like a fast-food place?"

"Air-freshener. It's a new scent. Eau de calories."

"Right."

I narrow my eyes a little and decide it's best for everyone if we change the subject. "What are they making you do for the rest of the day?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I thought your students already presented. What are you doing after lunch?"

"Oh. There are a couple of sessions the department wanted me to attend. I guess so they get something in return for paying for the hotel." He reaches out just in time to stop Joe from knocking over his water. "Hey, tell me what you want, I can put it on your plate."

Joe frowns and studies Luka's plate with the expression he always gets when he's trying to find the word he wants. His eyes light up. "Little toast."

"What? I don't – "

"He wants a crouton, Luka."

"Oh." He picks one up and hands it to Joe, who gazes at it like it's the Holy Grail. Luka turns to me. "How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Understand him. I can't figure out half of it."

I shrug. "I have experience."

"You took a class in gibberish?"

"No. I just happen to have gotten some practice deciphering broken English over the past eight years." I'm trying, and failing, to keep from grinning.

He picks up a crouton from his salad and raises an eyebrow. "That wasn't nice. My English is not broken."

"You're right. I'm sorry. Your English is excellent."

"Thank you."

"Except when you're tired. Or in the middle of…certain things. Or eight years ago when we first started dating and your hotel doorman thought I was a prostitute for about three months because you told him I was your 'companion.'"

He groans. "You're never going to forgive me for that, are you?"

"He asked me my rate, Luka. I mean, I've always wanted a moment out of 'Pretty Woman,' but that wasn't the one I'd have chosen."

"Little toast." Joe looks up at Luka expectantly. "Please."

Luka sighs and hands him another crouton. "Little toast?" He takes one and holds it out to me like a peace offering.

"You're _so_ lucky I find your accent charming."

* * *

><p>We leave Joe with a movie and a pair of med students – one of whom I gather after about eight seconds has an enormous crush on Luka – at seven for what I think is our first date since Maggie visited. It's not that we don't spend time just us, but between work and Joe and AA and everything else, it's easier to just stay at home and watch a movie or something.<p>

As emotionally high-maintenance as both of us are, we're pretty low-key when it comes to Friday night plans.

He hails a cab and holds the door open for me – not because we're on a date, but because he's Luka and he's like that – and tells the driver an address. I glance at him and he just nudges me. "You'll see."

And I do. It's very obvious what's going on as soon as we get there, because I can see Rockefeller Center from the entrance to the restaurant. I look up at him. "You're taking me skating?"

"I'm taking you to dinner," he corrects me. "Then I thought…if you wanted to, we could go skating. If it's not – "

"No, I – it's great." I squeeze his hand. "Really. I'm just…I was surprised."

"You mean because I can't skate and will fall down?"

"I didn't say that." He holds the door of the restaurant open. "But…yeah, kind of."

"It's okay. I know a good doctor."

* * *

><p>"Ow."<p>

"I told you – stop moving around. Just keep the ice there, and be quiet, or Joe's going to wake up."

"It's cold."

I sigh. "Are you trying to make me feel guilty because _you_ took _me_ skating?"

"No. I'm just…"

"Whining?"

"I do not whine," he hisses. "I am expressing my pain."

"Oh, come here, you big crybaby." I pull back the covers, and he lies down very tentatively beside me.

"Ow."

"Well, put the ice back on." I reach over him for the bag and pull the sheet over him before setting the ice on his knee. "There."

He looks at me with an expression that's unnervingly familiar, which I suspect is because Joe uses the same one when he wants something. "Aren't you going to give me a sponge bath?"

I roll onto my side and prop my head on my hand. "Mmm…no. I don't want you getting the idea that taking me to dinner automatically means I'll sleep with you."

The corners of his mouth twitch. "I don't recall _ever _having to buy you dinner to get you into bed."

"Did you really just imply that I'm easy?"

"No." He bites his lip. It's ridiculously sexy when he bites his lip. "I implied that you're unable to resist me."

"Oh. Well, that's true." I lean in to kiss him. I hear the bag of ice fall off the bed as he pulls me closer, and we just lie there for a little bit, kissing, and I have to say it's nice to just do that, make out, and not have it be the lead-up to anything.

We're interrupted by a creak and then a soft thud and scuffling feet. We disentangle ourselves just as Joe peers around the edge of the bed, looking suspicious.

"Joe?" I lean across Luka to look at him.

He shrinks back behind the edge of the bed like maybe we didn't see him. Luka gives me a look that's somewhere between amused and annoyed. "Joe?"

The top of his head and some fingers appear over the comforter. "Big bed?"

I climb out and go around to where he's standing, looking pitiful. "Not tonight. Come on, Buzz and Froggie are going to be lonely without you."

"Please?"

He keeps wheedling as I tuck him back in and Luka just watches us while I rub his back until he falls asleep again, which takes about three minutes.

"I just want to point out that _I _have always been a good sleeper," I whisper as I crawl back in next to Luka.

"Hey, I would have put him to bed. If I wasn't lying here in pain, suffering."

"Uh huh."

He rolls over so he's facing me and one arm is draped across me, his fingers on my hip. "Besides, he likes you better at night."

"Because I'm a sucker. I can't say no to either one of you." He smiles and brushes his fingers along my waist. It's funny – I can tell what he's thinking sometimes just by how he touches me. Like I know right now he's relaxed. And happy. "Can I ask you something?"

"Mmhmm."

"If we could…if I still could…would you want another one?"

He looks at me for a minute or so, and I can't tell if he's surprised that I brought it up or not. But it's kind of been a question I've wanted an answer to for a while, and never got up the courage to ask him. Except ever since this afternoon, I've been thinking about how shocked he looked when I told him I'd implied to Richard that we'd have more. "I don't know. I guess…I might." He sighs. "I always just figured…"

"Figured what?"

He shrugs, and there's a flicker of a smile on his face. "That we'd have another little accident. I mean…we got him," he nods toward where Joe is sleeping, "on the first try. So odds are…"

"Oh shut up." I shove him gently, but I can't help grinning. "It wasn't exactly a _try._ You caught me off guard. I'm usually – _was_ usually – more careful."

"You make it sound like I snuck up behind you and got you pregnant."

"No." I rake my fingers through my hair. "I'm pretty sure I remember you being on top of me. At least the first two times. After that it gets a little hazy."

Now he's grinning, too, and looking at me like maybe he'd like to be on top of me again.

"Seriously, though…" I breathe in against the pillow. It smells like hotel shampoo, perfume, and Luka. "Assuming we didn't have any happy accidents, and that I could. If everything else was the same, is that – do you think you'd have wanted to?"

He reaches over and cups my face in his hand, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb. "I…" He trails off, and I hold his gaze. Even though it's dark, I can see his eyes, and I know he's afraid of hurting me, however he answers.

I turn my head and kiss his hand. "It's okay."

"I think I would," he says, so softly he's almost whispering. "Not…not because it feels like anything's missing. I just think…" He glances over to where Joe is sleeping. "It's hard not to want another one. More of us. It doesn't mean I'm less happy than I would be if we had more, though."

"I know that."

"Do you?" He frowns. "Because…before, when I said I thought being a father would make me feel whole again, I didn't…"

"Luka – "

"No, I want…I need to say it. I keep…not saying things." I feel his fingertips stroking my temple. "Feeling like I needed that to be whole, it – I felt that way before. And then…I know it was only a few weeks, but when we were together, before you told me you were pregnant, I didn't…I felt…" I kiss his palm again. "It didn't feel like that then. If you hadn't gotten pregnant, I think…I _know_ it would have been enough. I think maybe wanting to be a father was just wanting to love something again."

I feel for a minute like I've walked into a live wire, or maybe a defibrillator, and there's this kind of electric sensation that goes through me and I'm not sure I can feel my hands. And then I definitely can, because they're on either side of his face and I'm halfway on top of him, kissing him, just completely desperate and I'm not sure for what. But _god_.

Eventually, Luka peels me off of him and there's a sort of bewildered, lopsided smile on his face. "If I'd known that was how to get you into bed…"

"Shut up, Luka." I can hear my voice and it's hoarse and I don't think I screamed, so it must be the other thing. I reach up and touch my face and realize it's wet "I don't…honestly, Luka…_fuck_."

He strokes my arm. "What?"

"I don't know. I don't know!" I cover my face with my hands, which are shaking. I'm halfway tempted to call down to the front desk and ask if they can send up a priest and a bottle of holy water, because whatever is going on is completely foreign to me. I lower my voice again. "I don't know why…why hearing that makes me feel…I don't know."

"I thought you knew that, Abby. What I said that day, when I thought…what I said about not wanting that one decision to define us…did you think I was just saying that?"

"I don't know." I need to get that tattooed on my forehead. "I…maybe."

He pulls my hands off my face and there's this incredulous expression on his face. "Jesus, Abby, you actually _don't know_ how much I love you."

"I do. I just – "

"I don't think so." He moves his hand from my face to his and rubs his forehead. "God, I get it now."

"Get what?"

"Why…" He trails off and doesn't say anything for a few minutes. And then he does, but his voice is different. Almost sad. "You didn't…you really didn't know if I'd come back."

I look at him and he looks back at me and suddenly I feel a little bit ashamed of myself. "I'm sorry."

"Why would you be sorry?"

"I should have…when you said…everything. I should have trusted you."

"I should have said it in the first place." He shakes his head a little. "I took it for granted. I knew what that felt like, having somebody who felt that way, and…you didn't. And I – I _knew_. When you said you wanted the baby…and when you asked me to ask you again…even though it scared you." He reaches for my hand. "When I asked you the first time, did you think it was just because I wanted to do the right thing?"

I don't say anything. I'm not sure anything good would come of admitting that when he said we should get married, all I could think about was how he'd said he wanted to do the right thing when he'd thought Nicole was the one having his baby. As much as I want to talk to him and be honest with him so that we make this all work, there are a couple of things that he never needs to hear.

He rolls onto his side so his head is hovering above mine and he's looking right into my eyes. "It wasn't because I thought I should. I wanted to be with you. Baby or no baby." He traces my cheekbone with his thumb. "I still do."

"Me too." It comes out as a sort of scratchy whisper.

He leans down to kiss me again. "I'm glad."

I pull him toward me and we lie there awhile, holding onto each other, and after awhile I stop feeling I've been shot full of epi and relax against him. I turn my head so I can see his face, and he looks back at me in that way that makes me shiver. "Luka."

"What?" He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

"It wasn't just that."

"Wasn't what?"

"I mean, thinking you wanted to do the right thing. I was scared. I'm still scared, I guess."

"Of what?"

I don't answer him right away. Not because I don't know, but because saying it will inevitably sound either accusatory or like I'm making excuses for being screwed up.

"Hey." He slides his hand over my cheekbone and up into my hair and turns my head toward him. "Just tell me."

I swallow, and it comes down on me in a wave just how much this trust thing has allowed me to sabotage myself and just how many times it's been a roadblock in our relationship. A lot of people would've just let it be and said screw it, and he didn't. I think he's the first person who's ever actually gotten through that barrier.

"I wasn't sure you meant it."

"Meant it…you mean you thought I didn't want to marry you at all?"

I shrug a little and now I can't look at him because I know how much it must've hurt when I didn't say yes and how much it must hurt now to hear me say I didn't believe him. I feel him take my hand and his breath on my shoulder and I know I have to answer him. "It's stupid. _I_ was stupid. I – you shouldn't have – "

"Abby." He touches my cheek.

"I – I was twenty when Richard and I started going out. And I moved in with him six months later. I didn't want to live on campus, and he had graduated and didn't want to have to 'be around a bunch of college kids' whenever he wanted to see me, as he put it. So I moved in with him. And it was fine, for awhile, and then we started fighting a lot, and it always ended with us…" I pause. "Well, we weren't talking things out. And eventually that was just sort of what we did, and I was young and incredibly stupid so I just chalked it up to being passionate instead of being completely dysfunctional." I shift a little and he doesn't say anything, but he doesn't move his hand from the base of my head. "The night he proposed was the first time it ever went beyond just yelling. We completely trashed the apartment."

"Did he…" I can feel Luka tense up.

"No. Whatever else went on, he never hit me. Probably because he knew I was good with a bat. But no, I mean, it started out that one of us threw a glass – I can't even remember who – and we both just lost it, breaking each other's stuff and screaming and it was all very made-for-television. Particularly the part when we'd kind of hit the peak and were completely exhausted, and I started crying and he started apologizing and then he just…proposed. And that was that. We cleaned up and it was like nothing happened, and a couple days later he bought me a ring." I leave out the part about having decidedly violent sex in the midst of it all. I don't think I figured out until we were getting divorced that passionate didn't mean leaving each other with bite marks and bruises. When all was said and done, that was probably the only time we were honest with each other, when we were actually expressing our anger. "When I filed the divorce papers, he told me he should've left it alone, that he hadn't wanted to marry me to begin with and he bought the ring because it was cheaper than breaking up."

He's quiet for a few minutes, and I can feel my heart beating and my pulse rushing, just waiting for him to say something. Anything.

"Did you believe him?"

"I don't know. Sometimes. There were plenty of times when we were together that he seemed like he'd rather be somewhere else. And I probably seemed the same. I can't really blame him for having buyer's remorse."

"Abby," he murmurs.

"And I mean – Carter, and the ring, and I can't actually blame him for changing his mind. I was beyond screwed up, and we'd said the words, kind of, but it never really meant anything, I don't think. It was like when you hang up the phone and you say it."

"_Abby._"

"And I mean – I shouldn't put that on you. I know you're not the same and I know…cognitively, I know you wouldn't have asked me if you didn't want to. I just…I was scared and I was still stupid. I couldn't even tell you I loved you."

"_Abby._" He smiles a little. "You weren't the only one. I could say it in Croatian and when you were asleep, but I was so afraid of…I guess of scaring you, of what the hell I'd say next, of what I'd do if you didn't say it back…I asked you to marry me – badly – and I still hadn't said it to you."

I reach for him and he gets the hint and kisses me back, and my heart is beating even faster now, probably because it doesn't know what to do with itself. I pull back a little. "Looks like we're both kind of fucked up, huh?"

"I think maybe we're getting better."

"Maybe." I reach over and shove the bag full of half-melted ice off the bed and pull the covers up over both of us. I feel Luka's hand settle back on my waist. "Sometimes I wasn't asleep."

"Hmm?"

"When you said it. I wasn't always asleep."

"No?"

"No. And I know you think it's a secret code or something, but I figured it out in Croatian like…eight years ago."

He smiles. "Is that so?"

"Mmhmm."

"Eight years?"

"Eight years."

"So…"

"So I'm incredibly irrational and don't know how to trust other people. And I have a knack for getting in my own way." I frown. "And I should probably come with an instruction manual or something."

I feel his fingers skim across the curve of my hip. "I don't mind figuring it out ourselves. Although, the part about you being irrational and not knowing how to trust people and getting in your own way?"

"Yeah?"

"Eight years."

"Eight years?"

"Yeah." He's looking me dead in the eye and the thing is, it doesn't scare me anymore when he looks at me like that. "And you're worth the challenge."


	13. Thank You

**"Thank You"**

We agree a couple of weeks before that Thanksgiving will just be us – small, quiet, and with as few dishes to clean as possible. That holds for about three days, when I mention it might be nice to invite Srdjan and his family, which we do. It sort of spirals after that – Sofija and her new husband, the husband's cousin, Isaac and Miles and Isabella, Rena from work, and then Teddy, mostly so he'll quit moping around and mentioning how he's too broke for a plane ticket every half hour. At the last minute, Luka invites the neighbors, which is probably nice since we're borrowing all of their dining room furniture and most of their silverware. Luka reassures me that it'll be great, people will bring food, and I won't even have to cook. Not that I was planning on it, anyway.

All the same, Luka comes down to find me at two in the morning on Thanksgiving, scrubbing the counters, and stands there a minute before he just takes the sponge away from me, throws it in the sink, and wraps his arms around me.

"I've never done this," I mumble, after a minute.

"Done what?"

"Had a…dinner. For people." I yawn and tighten my hold on him. "I've actually worked pretty hard to avoid it."

He's quiet a minute. "You want me to call everybody and cancel? I can just say Joe is sick. It won't be a big deal."

"No. It's not – I mean, I like these people. And it's sort of strange to have a group of people over and not work with all of them and not want to avoid any of them, but it's more that…it just kind of freaks me out."

"What part?" He leans against the counter and I turn around in his arms so I'm leaning back against him.

"I don't know. All of it, I guess." I run my fingers over his arm. "I wish…"

"You wish what?"

"That I could have a glass of wine." He doesn't say anything. "I don't mean…I don't want to get drunk. I just…wish I knew how to have one glass and not fuck everything up."

He relaxes his hold on me a little, and for a minute I'm terrified of what he's thinking, but he just lets his hands drop and when I feel him holding mine, I let out a little sigh of relief. "I can watch Joe in the morning if you want to go to a meeting."

I'm a little shocked by the offer, not just because he's encouraging me, but because he's actually acknowledging the fact that maybe I need it. I think it's the first time he's done that, directly, and that he's still holding me makes it kind of surreal because it's not something I ever saw happening.

I turn and he lowers his head enough so I can kiss him, and if I wasn't so tired and tense and surrounded by the smell of cleaning solution, I think I'd be all over him. And it's not one of those times where it's easier to just get lost in that sort of euphoric state of being with him than confronting the really difficult stuff, it's that as kind and loving and sexy and good in bed as he is, it's the times when he just gets it – gets _me_ – that make me feel like if I'm not all over him then and there, I might die. I think maybe that's part of why he kissed me that night in his apartment, after I'd let loose on him about that little girl, because it was one of the few times up until then I'd really let myself be vulnerable and emotional in front of him. Or anyone, really. And he knew that, and he knew I'd gone there, to him, whether I'd realized on it or not because I trusted him enough. And it wasn't like I had a whole lot of people I could have gone to when I was feeling like that, but I did go to him, and I guess maybe he realized that at the end of the day, literally and figuratively, we might not have gotten it all, but we got more of each other than we'd ever get with anybody else.

Or maybe I'm just projecting, because that's definitely how it felt for me.

"I think I'm okay. But thank you. If I change my mind – "

"You know where I am." He gives me a little lopsided smile.

"And I have a compass _and_ a GPS, just in case."

* * *

><p>Luka's right, and it's not actually bad at all. We get up and Joe and I help cook for awhile and then move onto cleaning while Luka does whatever it is men do when they've brought home some sort of large animal to feed the family. I think it's one of those things, connecting to his caveman roots and feeling important about having killed something to feed the family, or in this instance, purchased something and driven it home to serve to the family and some other people with canned cranberry sauce.<p>

Joe makes a nice little helper until he goes down for his nap, at which point Luka comes out of the kitchen looking all pleased with himself and says the turkey has to cook and he doesn't have anything to do for the next hour, and if I'm anxious, he has a couple ideas of how to help. We end up just having a quick nap on the couch, but it does help, having his arms around me and relaxing for a couple of minutes, just us. It's funny, I'm not sure two years ago it would have been like this – we'd probably both have been tense and snapping at each other a little – but we've got a sort of suburban routine down, now, and a lot of the stuff we weren't so great at navigating before aren't really issues. We're not living a black-and-white sitcom or anything, but I think we've gotten the hang of reading each other and anticipating things and maybe it's good, not working together, because it's not like we're compartmentalizing that stuff, but we're not letting the stress everything from work bleed all over everything else and ruin it.

Isaac and Miles come over as it's beginning to get dark – none of this dinner at three business – and Joe and Isabella set about preparing a plastic feast for Froggie and Buzz and Isabella's princess doll, who she reminds me in a withering tone _is named Princess Matilda._ Our neighbors, a nice couple in their fifties whose son is in college abroad somewhere, come over after and the six adults haul the chairs and extra table and silverware over from next door and take turns making sure Joe and Isabella haven't made a break for it. Joe waits until we've brought everything over and then interrogates the neighbors about their cat, Sylvester, and whether cats celebrate Thanksgiving and if they get turkey and if there will be other cats going over to the empty house to have Thanksgiving or if Sylvester will be lonely. Isabella selflessly offers to share her turkey if Sylvester would like to come over, and I think everyone is relieved when Srdjan and his family show up because I don't think anybody wants the cat over here, nor does anyone want two toddlers throwing a fit over animal rights.

It's incredibly loud and there's a ridiculous amount of food and quite a lot of wine being passed around, although no one seems bothered when I decline, and at various points Joe and Isabella are under the table, running around screaming, and trying to coopt Teddy to join their game of fishing for people's shoes. I guess they have a kind of radar for people with similar maturity levels, and he sort of gives himself away when he cracks the two of them up with breadstick fangs. Still, it's kind of…_nice_, actually, to have everyone there and even though it's overwhelming and I have to take a couple of Tylenol to ward off a headache from the noise, I'm not looking to escape with a bottle of wine or anything. It helps that every so often, I feel Luka's hand reach down to squeeze mine, and when we go around and everyone says what they're thankful for, he squeezes my hand again and says he's thankful that I have a good sense of direction. I think people figure he's talking about not getting lost driving, but I'm happy with just the two of us knowing what it is he means. When it's my turn, I do my usual thing and deflect and just say that I'm thankful everyone else can cook so I don't have to. I wait until we're clearing dishes and we have a second, just us, and whisper to him that I'm also thankful for a lot of other things but that I'm not really sure I can pick just one, and I'll have to think about it and get back to him.

Later, when everyone's gone and Joe's asleep and we're cleaning dishes, I see Luka gathering wine bottles and he just meets my eye and sort of nods and takes them into the kitchen. I go in and see him pouring out the contents and rinsing the bottles and it's not even that he knows to do it or that he turned down wine at dinner again or that I know from the label that at least one of the wines he's pouring out and not saving for some other time cost a small fortune, it's that he doesn't even bat an eye. And I'm almost at a place where I can consider the possibility that the whole time he's doing it, he's not just thinking of what a pain in the ass it is or how I've got this problem he has to work around, and that maybe it's just something he does. Like how I've come to anticipate him cringing sometimes when there's a loud noise or know how to bring him back when he's having a nightmare, and it doesn't seem like an imposition, it's just part of the whole deal.

I wait 'til he's dumped all the bottles in the recycling and then wrap my arms around him from behind and hold him a minute. He doesn't say anything but I know he knows. All the same, I tell him I'm thankful that he knows me as well as he does and that he loves me anyway, and then he turns and looks down at me with this sort of smile and says as it happens, he loves me _because_ of what he knows.

* * *

><p>"Abby?"<p>

"Where were you?" I'm trying not to sound like a neurotic housewife, but he's over an hour late coming home and not picking up his phone. I walk into the front hall to see him peeling off a pair of soggy shoes and realize he's completely drenched. "Did you walk home?"

"Not all the way." His teeth are chattering. "Train got stuck a few stations away. It wasn't raining as much then."

"You should have called, I'd have come and picked you up." I don't bother to hang up his coat, just dump it on the floor and peel his sweater off. "Why would you walk?"

"Dunno. Thought it would only take a little while, twenty minutes maybe. What are you doing?" He sounds stuffed up, kind of like Joe after a tantrum, and he's shivering.

"Taking off your clothes. They're wet, and I'd like it if you didn't die of hypothermia. Come upstairs." I grab a blanket from the sofa and wrap it around him. "I'll wait 'til later to tell you what an idiot you are."

"Thanks." He follows me upstairs sort of stiffly and sits on the bed. I pull off his socks and grab a towel from the bathroom so he can dry his hair.

He looks a little stupefied, just sitting there, and I'm trying not to overreact because I know, rationally, that he's not in mortal danger but it's hard not to freak out just a little bit. He looks like hell and it reminds me of how he looked when he came back from the Congo. "I'll be right back." I wait until he's stripped off the rest of his clothes and is getting under the covers before I go downstairs. It's not like I don't trust him, but between what I know about hypothermia and the fact that he's terrible when it comes to putting himself first, I'm pretty sure he could be encased in a block of ice and still insist he was fine. When I come back up with a cup of tea, he's at least stopped shaking, but just to be safe I grab the thermometer and tell him to open up.

"Abby…"

"Just take the thermometer." I put his tea on the night table and pull off my pants and shirt. "You're more of a baby about it than Joe."

He rolls his eyes but sticks the thermometer in his mouth and lies still while I slide under the covers and wrap myself around him. "I'm fine," he announces when the thermometer beeps.

I take it from him. "Not severely hypothermic and fine are two different things. And really, how well do you think that's going to work on me?"

He makes a sort of mumbling noise that I take as concession. I pull the blankets closer around us both and shift so I'm straddling him. I'm not aiming for it to be anything but trying to warm him up, but I feel him tense and when I catch his eye he has that sort of guilty-but-not-really-sorry look on his face.

"I knew this was all part of an elaborate plan to get me into bed," I murmur. His hand grazes my arm and I tense this time.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." I reach over and hand him the mug. "Here."

"Thanks." He takes it from me. "This is awful."

"It's microwaved iced tea. It was that or microwaved grape juice."

"I'd have taken the temperature shock over the taste."

"Just drink it, Luka."

He does, and I feel him relax a little. His skin is still cold and I'm guessing his feet are freezing, but the height disparity has some drawbacks when it comes to body warmth. "It was dumb."

"I know." I'm not trying to be mean.

"There was some problem with the track – I don't think it was a big deal, but we were just sitting there, right on the bridge, and it just…I couldn't stay on there anymore." He sets the mug down and pulls the covers up again. I feel his hands on the small of my back. "I don't know why it reminded me of it, but I thought if I had to sit there any longer…"

"Luka." I slide my hand out from under the covers and touch his face. He looks down at me and I know the look, the sort of indescribable sadness of remembering that and reliving it, and it doesn't matter how many times I see it, I'll never get used to it.

He swallows. "I didn't realize how cold I was or how long it was until I got here. I didn't even think to call."

I slide up further and prop my head up so I'm still right up against him but at least I can see his face. I run my fingers over the wet spikes of hair on his forehead. "Was it something specific? Or just…"

"Just that feeling. Being trapped, the rain. The lights were off in our car. It reminded me of being at the hospital, in the basement."

I'm quiet, just playing with his hair and waiting for him to keep talking, but he doesn't, and I don't know if there's anything more to say. I don't think he knows why he feels that way any more than I do, sometimes.

We lie there awhile longer until he's warmed up and then I get up and run a bath for him. As I'm setting a dry towel on the lid of the toilet seat, he reaches out for my hand and looks at me and I feel the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up. Not from the cold. "Stay. There's room."

It's not like I'm going to argue. I take off my robe and go to step in but he shakes his head and gestures for me to sit in front of him. "See, I knew it was a ruse," I whisper.

I feel him laugh as he folds his arms across me and I lean back against him. "I was running out of ways to get you naked."

"You're such a sneak."

We're quiet after that, until the water starts to get cold, and I go to reach for a towel but he stops me. "Five more minutes."

"Mkay." I let a little water drain from the tub and then run hot water back in. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"I mean something…I just…maybe I don't really have a right to ask it, but – "

He cuts me off. "You can ask me whatever you want."

"Would it help…and I know you can't really know, but do you think…it would help if you went back there?" He's completely still and I somehow can't bring myself to turn around to look at him. Not just because part of me is still afraid of saying the wrong thing, and that might be one of the worst things I could have said, but because I don't want him to have to look at me if it's the wrong thing and think after everything, I don't get it.

The water's getting cold again by the time he answers me. "I haven't been there since…" He trails off and he's quiet a little longer. "I think sometimes it would. I just…don't know if I can."

I sit up, finally. "I have some time, after Christmas. I was going to ask if you wanted to go to see your brother, but…if you wanted…or if you thought it would help…we could go there. Instead, or both of them, I don't care, I just…if it would help…I'd go with you."

I feel him shift, and he moves so he's not quite facing me but I can see his expression and I have no idea what it means. The way he kisses me makes it pretty clear, though. He rests his forehead against mine and there are drops of water from his hair rolling down the sides of my face. "I'm afraid."

"I know." I stand up and reach out a hand, and he gets out of the tub as well and I'm not even the slightest bit surprised that he drapes the dry towel around me and takes the damp one off the door for himself. I decide it's not the right time to argue this particular point and I don't say anything until we crawl back under the covers and this time he's holding me. "Just don't not do it because you want to protect me."

"That obvious?"

"Yeah, you are. I can deal with seeing it. And I can deal with seeing you and however you handle it. I don't have any delusions of how this would go, Luka."

He sighs and I can feel his chest rise and fall underneath me. "So this is what it feels like, huh?"

"What?"

"When you told me you needed to get help. Get treatment." He presses his mouth against my head. "I don't think I…got it."

"Got what?"

"How brave it was. Knowing what you had to do and doing it even if you hated the idea."

"I guess…maybe."

"I wish I'd understood. Maybe it would have been easier for you."

"Easy is overrated."

We lie there a little longer, not saying anything, and then without any warning he moves me underneath him and starts kissing me and it's like that night at his apartment after the little girl died. He just kept kissing me, even after we'd made love, like he couldn't stop. And now he's doing that, and his hands are all over me and I feel like I'm melting over the sheets. After a while he slows down and holds me against him with one hand and the other one isn't so much all over me but it isn't still, either. It's something that hasn't happened since college and when I've come and he's still holding me I find myself thinking that I really underappreciated this kind of thing when I was younger. Although I'm not sure anyone has done it properly up until now. Not everyone has Luka's healing hands.

I feel his breath on my ear. "Thank you," he whispers.

"I kind of feel like I should be saying that to you."

"I meant, thank you for…being brave enough to do all this."

"It's not being brave." I catch his eye. "I just ran out of wrong ways to do everything."

"Take the compliment."

"Okay." I close my eyes and smile despite myself.

"Were you really going to suggest we go to visit my brother?"

I stop smiling. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable discussing your brother while your hand is between my legs."

"Sorry." He moves his hand. "Better?"

"Definitely not _better_, but we can talk about Niko now."

He laughs. "Okay. I just – I know you and he haven't exactly…"

"He's your family, Luka. It's not about whether or not he likes me."

"If it's any help, I think Ana likes you."

"I'm glad, but honestly, they can all think what they want. That shouldn't stop you or Joe from seeing them."

He kisses my ear, and it tickles. "So…after Christmas?"

"I still want to have Christmas just the three of us, if that's okay."

"It is."

"Good."

"I'll look at my schedule and talk to Niko. See when it's best to come."

"Okay." I'm starting to fall asleep. I go to sit up but he doesn't let me. "I have to turn off the lights downstairs."

"Leave them."

"And brush my teeth."

He still doesn't move his arm. "Your teeth are fine. Just…stay here with me."

I turn my head a little so I'm able to look at him. "I'll stay as long as you want me."

He moves his mouth right next to my ear and it makes shiver just a little. "Always."


	14. Amazing Grace

**A/N:** Totally tried to post the Christmas chapter on Christmas; totally failed. But I posted the chapter _before_ the Christmas chapter on Christmas, so that'll have to do. Also, Merry Whatever You Celebrate, including but not limited to Chanukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Tet, any form of solstice, any form of new year, Yule, Boxing Day (still don't know what that is), Festivus, Newtonmas, and whatever the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster celebrates. Personally, the only thing on my Newtonmas list is reviews, although I would not mind if someone got me the gift of making my neighbors shut up.

This chapter, specifically the last two scenes, overlaps with the epilogue of "Full of Grace." It also draws a number of parallels to the chapter "Winter" in the same story. So feel free to (re)read those for context if you'd like.

* * *

><p><strong>"Amazing Grace"<strong>

"Abby?"

I hear the front door close and the sound of shoes being kicked off. "I'm in here."

"In where?" He comes into the kitchen, where I'm standing at the counter, sorting through the pile of mail that's been accumulating all week. "Oh."

"In the room with the light on." I don't look up but from the corner of my eye, I can see a shadow cross the room and then I feel him behind me, sliding his arms around me, his fingers finding their way under the hem of my shirt. I breathe in sharply. "Your hands are freezing."

"Sorry." He rests his chin on the top of my head but leaves his hands where they are. "Warm them up for me?"

I lean back into him and he spreads his fingers out across my stomach. For the longest time, I'd flinch whenever he'd touch the scar from the C-section, even after it stopped hurting. Or stopped hurting physically, at least. Ever since that first night we were together after he came back home, though, it hasn't bothered me. If anything, it's a little bit comforting, knowing that he can touch me and not stop short of the scar.

I sigh a little. Not the unhappy kind. "I let Joe look through your car magazine. There might be some missing pages."

"I'll survive." He lowers his head so his nose is touching my hair and I can feel his breath on my scalp. It sends little shivers up my spine. "Anything else interesting?"

"Interesting is probably pretty subjective. Do we want to donate to an organization to save the pandas?"

"Not really."

"End the inhumane treatment of bunnies?"

"I've always been nice to them. Haven't you?" His hand inches a little higher so that his thumb is resting just below my ribcage.

"Unless you count the chocolate ones. Protect public radio?"

He removes one hand from my stomach and takes the envelope. "Do we get an umbrella or something?"

"I think you have to wait until the telethon for that." I glance at the next one and try to ignore the uncomfortable sensation triggered by the sight of the logo. "L'Alliance?"

"Set it aside." He reaches around me. "I'll take this."

"I thought you might." I've stopped bothering with disapproving looks whenever he flips through a Victoria's Secret catalog. Trying to fight the male psyche is sort of pointless. Besides, Christmas is coming, and I never did get the ricotta cheese out of that black teddy.

He sets it down and we just stand there for a minute, him holding me against him, and there's a real danger of my just drifting off right there, until he kisses the top of my head and releases me. "How's Joe?"

"Miserable. But sleeping, at least. I think the tea helped."

"He drank tea?"

"Well, warm honey with a little bit of tea mixed in." I turn around so I'm leaning back against the counter, braced against my elbows, looking up at him. "Seems that he's just as much of a pain when he's sick as you are."

"Mmm, but you put up with us both because we're cute."

I reach up and press my palm against his forehead. He raises his eyebrows, and I shrug in response. "Just checking."

"You can take the nurse out of Chicago…" My hand drifts down, over his cheek and jaw, and he turns his head so his lips are touching the center of my palm. "I'm fine." His hand cradles mine and steadies it as he kisses it firmly. "Of course if you'd like to give me a physical to be sure…"

I smile and turn back to the counter. "I'll see if I have any appointments open later."

"So that's how it is." I feel his hands on my hips again. "What's that?"

"What's what?" I toss a couple of bills on a pile to one side.

"Right there. White envelope."

"I don't know. Probably a Christmas card."

"It's addressed to you."

"Okay, so a Christmas card from somebody who doesn't like you."

"You're not as funny as you think you are, you know that?"

I lean my head back so I can look at him. "I make up for that in other ways."

"That's true."

I pull the card out from the envelope. "See? Christmas card." I flip it open to read the inscription. It takes me a minute, given how long it's been since I saw the handwriting.

"I'm going to kill her." I throw the card back onto the counter and slide out from between Luka and the counter.

"Who?"

"Maggie." I pick up the phone and start to dial, but he takes the phone out of my hand before I get very far. I grab for it, and he holds it out of my reach and gives me a look of confusion.

"It's past ten, Abby. What's wrong?"

"Give me the phone."

"Tell me what's wrong first."

"Give me the fucking phone!" I don't mean to yell, but it comes out that way, and he looks a little bit stunned. "I'm sorry."

He hands me the phone and puts one hand on my shoulder. "It's okay."

"She gave him our address."

"Who?" He seems to register what I'm talking about after a second. "Your father?"

"I really don't care if she's asleep, Luka. She had no right to do it."

He sighs softly. "You don't think he might have looked in the phone book?"

"No. I think Maggie did exactly what I asked her not to do because she's Maggie. And she's an insomniac, so she's probably up anyway."

He sort of pulls me into his arms and after a minute I relax and let him put the phone back in the cradle. "You think if you call her you'll feel better?"

"Yeah. I do." I don't, and he knows that, but I feel like arguing anyway. "She had no right to tell him. She knows I don't want to talk to him, or hear from him, and I don't understand why she's suddenly the cheerleader for mending relationships."

"She cares about you."

"And he didn't. Not as much as he cared about himself. He waited thirty years to find me and he didn't even have the guts to tell me who he was. I had to track him down, because I thought he was some poor guy who was afraid to face the fact that he was sick, and instead it was that he was afraid to confront the kid he'd left with a crazy person and a baby to deal with all by herself. And what's really messed up is if I hadn't believed his bullshit and chased him down that night, I'd have been home, and I'd have been there when fucking Ames broke in and I could have called the police and you never would have had to go through that. But I wasn't, because I was being jerked around by some asshole who doesn't deserve whatever misplaced pity Maggie feels for him."

"Abby," he murmurs. He tightens his arms around me and we just stand there for a few minutes until he bends down a little and lifts me onto the counter in front of him. I can't quite look at him as he runs his fingers down my cheek. "You can't blame him for that."

"I can. I can blame him for the fact that he fucked up yet another thing in my life."

"You think if you'd been there, things would have been better? He had a gun. You could have been there and it could have…he could have hurt you. And Joe. That's a lot worse than what did happen."

"Suddenly you're the guy telling me _I_ can't know if things would've been different?" I cringe. "Sorry."

"And suddenly you're telling me you can know?" He tilts my chin up so I'm looking at him. "Don't be sorry. Just don't hold that against him. If anything, I'm glad he showed up when he did."

I nod. "Good. You write him back and say that. And then add a note telling him to leave me alone."

"Tell him yourself. At least tell him why you don't want to see him. How much he's hurt you. Maybe that's what he deserves to hear."

"I don't want to, Luka. I don't mean to sound like a brat, but I just – I can't. It's not worth it. I mean, things are finally good. Really good. I just – I've finally got things figured out and have the things I want and I don't want to jeopardize that or take away from that by opening up another can of worms when it's not something I feel like is missing from my life."

He looks at me for a little bit and at first I think he's trying to come up with a response until he starts to look a little bit worried. "I don't know what that means."

"What what means?"

"You want to open a can full of worms?"

I honestly don't know if he does this for my benefit or if he really doesn't know. I laugh. "It means…it's like a problem that you don't want to deal with. Like it's messy."

"I see."

I run my fingers along his shirt collar. "I am a little scared Maggie's going to drag us onto 'Oprah.' Or one of the ones where they do paternity tests. Not that I'd be all that upset to find out he's not my father."

"I think you have to sign some sort of a contract to go on those shows."

"I just can't figure out her angle if it's not getting us on television. She loathed him for years."

"She's on her medication. Things are different." He looks down and runs his knuckles up and down my thigh, very gently. "I think maybe she wants to make up for not being a mother to you when you were little."

I let out a long, slow breath. "You think it's this irritating when I try to make amends?"

He gives me a lopsided smile. "I think you're a little more delicate about things than she is."

I bite my lip. "It'll be a year next week." It comes out quietly.

He nods. "I know."

"I, um…I know we didn't really…after the first time, I mean, talk about…stuff. And we don't have to, I'm just saying…if there's anything…" I trail off. "I know I can't undo things. But I don't want you to feel like – "

"Hey." His hand slides around my waist and he pulls me forward, a little closer to him. "I don't. It took me…I don't know, too long, but I think...I understand. It doesn't hurt now. I'm just glad to be here."

"Okay."

"You don't believe me."

"I…no. I believe that you believe it, because you want to."

He sighs. "I didn't get what it meant before. For you to be…an alcoholic." He only hesitates a little bit when he says that word. "It scared me too much to think of you like that."

"I know."

"A lot of things about you scare me, actually. But I think what we have is…it's bigger than those things."

"I think so, too." I look at him, finally, and he holds my gaze for a minute and then I lean in and kiss him. Short and sweet, almost exactly like the first time I kissed him, out there on that bench in the ambulance bay, but this time he doesn't just sit there looking at me like he's completely stupefied, he's kissing me back before I can pull away, and that's it, right there, why I'm not willing to open up some gaping wound that has already healed over, because I want to be doing exactly what we're doing right now and anything that jeopardizes that can go to hell.

* * *

><p>"Wake up."<p>

"Mmm."

"Abby. Wake up." Fingers are touching my face. Soft little patterns, tickling. "It's snowing."

"Already snowed. Last week. 'M sleeping."

"Come on. Abby." Damn. He's kissing my neck, my shoulder, and I can't really sleep through that.

"What are you, six? It's–" I squint. "–four in the morning. You've seen snow before."

"Just come on." He rolls off the bed and he must be faster than I thought because he's around to my side, tugging on my arm before I can manage to fall back asleep. And I can fall asleep pretty fast at four in the morning. I let him pull me up and out of bed and I lean against him because if he's going to get me up at this hour, he's going to have to do the work of standing for me. He pulls a blanket from the bed and drapes it around me. "Look."

I groan. "I have to open my eyes, too?"

"Yes." He steers me over to the window. "Look at that."

"It's snow. I've seen it before, too. I grew up in Minnesota, you know."

"I don't mean just snow. Would you just – " He taps on the window and I look where he's pointing.

"Oh."

"Yeah." He wraps his arms around me from behind. "Pretty nice, huh?"

"It'll be nice in the morning, too."

He sighs, displacing a strand of hair. I push it back over my ear. "Not like that. I never had something like that."

"Your own yard full of snow?"

"Yeah. Have you?"

"Well…no."

"Come on. Put on your coat."

I give him an incredulous look. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Just for a couple of minutes. I'll warm you up after. Promise."

My instinct is to tell him he's insane, that there's no way I'm going out there in the snow in the middle of the night, but there's this look on his face and maybe it's the moonlight or maybe I'm still half asleep, but I can't not follow. I put on a pair of boots and my coat and hat and we go out onto the porch where the snow is almost to my knees and it's still coming down fast. I stick out my tongue and catch a snowflake. "Not too bad."

He just grins at me, and gestures to the railing. "Here, climb over."

"Now I _really_ think you're nuts."

"To make a snow angel, come on. I'll hold you."

"Yeah, and then you'll drop me in a pile of snow."

He laughs. "You think I'm going to leave you there and go back to bed?"

"Not if you ever want to have sex again."

"It'll be fun. I won't leave you there."

I resist for a minute and just look at him with my arms crossed, but looking at him has the unfortunate effect of being completely coopted by his smile. "Fine."

He helps me over the railing and holds onto my arms. "One, two – "

"I'm going to kill you for making me do this."

"- three." He lets go, and I fall back into a pile of snow, eyes closed, and there's got to be some metaphor in there about trusting him and letting go and all that, but the thought is pretty much gone as soon as I find myself on my back in the snow, with Luka leaning over the railing to look at me.

"Get your ass down here." I reach one arm up.

"Okay." He climbs over the railing and leans back, holding on with two hands, before letting himself fall back into the snow beside me. "Ow."

"It's nice how you let me go first, there."

"You're smaller. It didn't hurt, did it?"

"No."

He turns his head toward me. "Then shut up."

"You shut up." I move my arms back and forth to make wing prints in the snow. "You're not making an angel."

"It's a snow Croat."

I sit up and look over at him, just staring up at the snow with that smile on his face like he's never seen anything like it. "Fair's fair."

He rolls his eyes a little and moves his arms and legs obligingly. "There. I've made one too."

"Good. Now can we go inside?"

"One more thing." He leans up and over me and sort of knocks me back into the snow when he kisses me. Without breaking the kiss, I reach over and grab a handful of snow and promptly drop it on the exposed skin of his neck. He draws back with a little yelp. "Hey!"

I can't stop myself from giggling. "Well you dragged me out in the snow in the middle of the night. What do you expect?"

He pulls me up with him and I reach up to brush the snow off his collar. He shakes his head a little. "You know what I'm going to do to you tomorrow?"

"You mean today?"

"Yes. Today."

"Well, I think you're going to take me inside and see to it that I'm properly warmed up and then let me sleep late, because you started this. And also because you love me."

He takes my hand and we tromp our way through the snow to the porch steps. "That's true."

"And then we're going to go out and get a couple of sleds, and go over to that hill down the street, and I'm going to make fun of you because you don't know how to sled. And you're going to let me. Know why?"

"Because I love you?"

"Mmhmm."

"Well…" He opens the door and helps me off with my coat. "I guess I can't really argue with that."

* * *

><p>"So how does it feel?"<p>

I smile. "Good. It feels – " The door to the doctor's lounge swings open, and I see Dr. Axelrod and Rena walk in, engaged in what seems to be a contest over who can swear more. "Hang on a minute, Janet."

I grab my coat and head out to the ambulance bay. It's not exactly quiet, but at least nobody out here is liable to eavesdrop. "Sorry."

"No problem."

"Anyway."

"Anyway. You've got a year. You must be pretty proud."

"I actually am. It's sort of weird."

I hear her laugh. "Why's that?"

"Because…I'm not used to feelings of self-acceptance. It's kind of freaking me out."

"Well, hopefully, you'll get used to them." She pauses. "I'm really proud of you, Abby. You got through a lot of stuff that not everybody could."

"I…thank you. And I hope you know…I mean, I don't think I could have done it without you. Especially those first couple of weeks after…without Luka. How many times did I call you?"

Her voice is a little softer. "A couple."

"A couple dozen, maybe."

"Maybe. It's okay, though. It's what I was there for. Still am here for, if you need to talk."

"Thanks."

"You're still liking your new sponsor?"

"Jill? Yeah. I mean, she's no Janet Coburn – "

"I would hope not."

Now I laugh. "She's good. I don't know, it's – is it strange that I got used the fact that you had been my boss and my OB and all that?"

"Only if it's strange that I'm still getting used to the fact that I didn't deliver any of my new sponsee's children. And a little insulted."

"I think that's totally reasonable."

"Speaking of which, how's Joe? I got the Christmas card. It's up on the board."

"In the NICU?"

"Yeah, right in the middle. The nurses all swooned. Dr. Raab even smiled."

"Wow. She _smiled?_"

"Huge smile. That kid's got some charm."

"It's all Luka. I'm just glad he doesn't have an accent, too. There is such a thing as too charming."

"I'm an obstetrician. I'm well aware."

I can't help but think to myself that I know, too, and that's sort of how Joe got here. "He's getting over a cold right now. It still freaks me out. Luka caught me in his room with a stethoscope in the middle of the night."

"When Claire had croup, I slept on the floor next to her crib for a week."

"Oh, see, we had a couch." Luka was very adamant that the couch not be in Joe's room after we moved. I think he had some notion that it would discourage me from hovering. Right.

She sighs. "People think doctors would be less neurotic because we know more. Except we're ten times more neurotic because we know everything that can go wrong."

"I'd like that in writing. Luka's ridiculously calm. I need proof that it's not just me that's crazy."

"Well, good luck convincing him. I have to get back in a minute. You doing anything special tonight?"

"I don't know. I think Luka has something up his sleeve. He thinks I thought he forgot." Or that I don't think he understands how big this is. Except the last month or so, things have kind of shifted, he's been acknowledging it, and I definitely _have_ noticed. Which he should have noticed from the dramatic increase in the number of suggestive text messages I've sent him and times I've grabbed him as soon as Joe was asleep. It's not like I didn't want him before, but there's something about him finally getting it after all this time that's overwhelming and makes me feel like those first few weeks we were together, when it was actually a challenge to work with him because I was struggling to think about the patient bleeding out in front of me and not about how sexy he looked in a sterile gown.

Although it's not quite that bad, now. Back then, I was also contending with a whole mess of hormones going through my system. Not really an issue anymore.

I snap back to the conversation. "Anyway. I have my regular meeting on Sunday and after Jill is taking me to lunch. And it'll be a month for my new sponsee, so I'm going early to take her for a coffee." The convenient thing about having a sponsee in their twenties is that a four-dollar latté is a pretty substantial gift to them.

"Since when do you have a sponsee? You're not supposed to be sponsoring anyone before a year."

"It was sort of an accident. I was trying to…I don't know, mentor her or whatever, because she was freaked out…and it just turned into a thing. I don't know, I know it's against the rules, but I connected with her after her first meeting and it's like that thing with imprinting. It wasn't intentional."

"I'd admonish you, but I'm not your sponsor any more. So I suppose I'll say that it's a nice thing to do, and that I understand all about imprinting because my kids brought home an abandoned baby squirrel one summer and it took four years for the damn thing to stop trying to get back into the house."

"That's gross and adorable at once. And don't worry, I've been admonished enough. And I'm being careful and setting boundaries and all that stuff."

"Good."

"I'll let you get back. And I think I've been standing out here too long to pretend I'm waiting on a trauma now, so I should go, anyway."

"Okay. Take care of yourself. And congratulations. I mean it, Abby."

"Thank you. For…you know."

"I know."

* * *

><p>I'm walking out of the subway station, trying to remember whether I parked on the second or third level of the garage, when I realize I have two missed calls and a text message that looks like it was written by Joe. Except they're definitely not from Joe. My stomach sinks a little when I look at the ID and see Caroline's name. Shit.<p>

"Caroline?" I have the phone cradled between my shoulder and my ear while I dig through my purse for my keys.

I hear what sounds like someone abusing a squeak toy on the other end and gather that she's crying.

"Where are you?"

She replies with more squeak-toy sounds and I manage to catch a couple of words, as well.

"You're on a boat?"

"In – " Squeak toy noises. "- a bar."

"Oh." So much for a month. "Can you tell me the name of it? I'll come pick you up, okay?"

"Hebrew coupon me."

"What?"

More squeaking. "He broke up with me."

"Okay. It's okay. Tell me where you are and don't move."

"No. Omelet taco bag."

This one I get. Spending time with toddlers pays off. "Don't take a cab. I'm going to pick you up and take you home. Promise me you won't leave."

"My permits."

"Good."

I manage to get the name of the bar from her, although it takes a couple of tries. I'm not actually sure I've got the name right until I plug it into the GPS. People name bars some pretty stupid things. I guess they know their audience.

Thankfully, it's not that far out of the way, and I manage to collect her and pay her tab – not that I'm encouraging the behavior, but I don't think she's really capable of counting at this point. We sit in the car for a few minutes and I make her drink a bottle of water, and then another one after she throws up on the sidewalk. I get the address out of her and get her upstairs and I'm a little bit relieved when her roommate is there and says she can handle it from there. Caroline leans on her roommate and gives me a look like a wounded puppy. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Call me when you get up tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah."

I write my number down with a note just in case and give it to the roommate.

Caroline scuffs her foot – or tries to, anyway. "Thanks, Abby."

I smile. "It's what I'm here for."

* * *

><p>"You're late," he tells me the moment I walk in the door. Any doubt that he knows what today is evaporates the second he moves towards me, but I follow along with the little charade for a minute or two. I ask about Joe and then feign that I'm going to go have some dinner, and then it's all over, because he's kissing me. I mean, really kissing me.<p>

"Congratulations," he whispers to me. God, I can't even begin to explain how much I love this man. It borders on ridiculous.

He pulls me into the kitchen and even though I know he knows, and that he's planned something that's undoubtedly very sweet, I'm not really expecting how perfect it is – a little convenience-store cupcake, just like the one we had when Joe was a week old, and the ones he saved so we could both have one for Joe's first birthday, even though we weren't together. It all sort of hits me at once, the meaning of it, how terrified I was after Joe was born and how as much as I wanted to be strong for him, I'd never have survived those weeks and months in the NICU without Luka. And how much it ached not to have him there with me when Joe turned one, because it wasn't just a celebration for Joe, it was that we'd really done it, made this little thing that was so amazing and wanted it together and gotten through that first year and there we were, husband and wife and child. And how all of that came so close to being undone, but it didn't, and we came out the other side better. And that he knows all these things – not everything, but more than anyone ever has – about me that I was terrified for him to know and that he doesn't love me any less.

I sort of fall into his lap and shiver when I feel his mouth on my jugular. "I love you, Abby." His lips move down to the hollow between my clavicles and I close my eyes. "I hope you know how proud I am of you. You're…" He cups my cheek in his hand. "You're amazing."

I turn my head so I can whisper into his ear. "You're pretty amazing yourself." He smiles. "Take me upstairs."

He does take me upstairs, and then he takes my clothes off, and then he just takes me. I think when we were together before that sometimes he was trying to say something to me when we made love, times just like now that it wasn't actually as much us making love as him making love to me. Telling me. Except this time he says it aloud, too, about nine thousand times over the course of the night. The whole night. It's been a long time since we did that, back when we'd just gotten together again, and as good as it felt back then, lying next to him and talking and laughing and making love, as much as it was the happiest I'd been in a long time, it kind of pales in comparison.

"You know what I was thinking about?" he asks me, later on, as I'm draped across his chest, thinking about the fact that this might actually be the happiest I've been, ever. I don't move or lift my head up from his chest because at this point I really don't think I can.

"That we're going to have to be up in less than an hour?"

He turns his head toward me and kisses the top of my head. "I was thinking about when you were staying with me. After – "

"When I was staying on your couch. I know."

"I just – you remember that night, maybe the second one you were there, when you told me…"

"That I was an alcoholic. You can say stuff, Luka. There is literally no way for it to upset me with this much oxytocin in my system."

He laughs softly. "Sorry. I – it was the first time I think we'd ever really talked. You know, about those kinds of things, for more than a minute or two at a time."

"I remember. We talked for like…three hours."

"I wanted to kiss you. I think it was killing me, how much I wanted to."

"Probably good that you didn't."

"Why's that?" He shifts a little and pulls the blankets up around us.

"Because I was messed up back then. And because I wanted you to kiss me, and if you had, we'd probably have slept together. I needed to figure stuff out, and if we'd gotten together then, even if it was a one-time thing, it might have ruined things for us later."

"That's probably true." He sighs. "I really wanted to kiss you, though."

"You have me naked and partially comatose in your bed and you're complaining about the past." I lift my head up off his chest a little and look at him. "Kiss me _now_, you idiot."

He slides me off him, not all that gently, and leans over me with his elbows and forearms on either side of my face and gives me the least convincing look of indignation ever. "Don't call me names."

"Well you had no problem with any of the things I called you earlier." I bite my lip. I really need to stop flirting with him, because I'm exhausted and a little bit sore and encouraging him is just going to make things worse. Except I don't know how to not flirt with him when he looks at me like this.

"That's different."

I roll my eyes a little. "How's that?"

"They were much more complimentary."

"Well sure, in context. I think some of those things might pass for insults if we were fully clothed." Seriously, I can't stop myself.

"You're not wearing any clothes now."

"Exactly. See? It wasn't an insult."

He sighs. "If you say so."

"I do."

"See, _those_ words, I like."

"Luka?" I reach a hand up to brush against his bicep and try to look serious.

"What?"

"Please shut up and kiss me already."


	15. One Diamond, One Heart

**"One Diamond, One Heart"**

"How about this one?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"No. Don't like. Is too big."

I sigh and set Joe on the ground. "You don't like it?"

"No. Don't like it."

"Can you say 'I don't like it'?"

He frowns up at me. "I don't like _it._" He stomps his foot for emphasis. I do feel a little bit bad when I correct him, but it's become sort of a thing, leaving out certain words. It's not actually a problem with speech – although I'd worried about that until Luka figured it out – as much as a problem knowing the difference between English and Croatian, particularly when it comes to sentence structure. Which, as far as I'm concerned, is not the worst problem to have.

Still, we've been more careful. We sound like idiots, but if it helps, I guess that's what matters.

"How about this tree?" Luka points to another.

"No."

"Too big?" I clear my throat, and Luka ducks his head a little. "_Is_ _it_ too big?"

"Yes. I want the little tree."

I decide not to get into indefinite articles just yet. "Well, how are we going to fit all of the ornaments on the tree if it's little?"

Joe looks up at me, wrinkling his nose as if to suggest that I'm really very stupid for asking. "Put them on the floor."

Luka glances at me and shrugs. I guess this wasn't the best plan in the world, letting him choose, since we're pretty much left deciding between a ridiculous tree and a tantrum.

"Him!" I see Joe's eyes light up and he takes off. "Him! I want him!"

We catch up to him and he points to a pitiful looking collection of sticks straight out of _Charlie Brown_. He looks up at me hopefully. Crap. I look at Luka. "Um…"

"I want him, Tata."

Luka scratches his head. "You want _it_?"

"I want it."

I try again, despite knowing full well how this is going to play out. Trying to resist either of them is an exercise in futility. "Don't you want a prettier tree?"

Clearly I've crossed a line. Joe's nostrils flare slightly. "No."

"I have an idea." Luka crouches down to Joe's level. "Do you want to have this tree in your room? A Joe tree? And we can have a big tree for Mama and you and me downstairs?"

Joe frowns and looks at his tree and then back to Luka. "I will put socks on Joe tree."

"Uh…okay."

"And I will put mittens."

"Sure. You can put socks and mittens on your Joe tree if you want." Luka looks at me helplessly, and I just smile. Now he knows what I go through every time I look at him.

"Okay." Joe nods, apparently satisfied with the arrangement. "Mama, this is my tree."

"Yup, this one is yours. Just for you."

"Yes." He beams.

I kind of have to wonder if someday he's going to ask for a car and give me that look and I'll have no choice but to say yes. I mean, sure, he'll probably be over temper tantrums by then, but it's not as though I'm looking forward to teenage sulking and angst.

Maybe by then I'll have worked out a way to trick Luka into saying "no" all the time.

We get Joe's endorsement on a normal-looking Christmas tree and Luka ties it to the roof of the car while I pay and try to convince the manager to throw in Joe's sad little tree at no cost. We agree on five dollars, which I guess is the price I pay for having a kid with eclectic taste.

"He needs a seatbelt," Joe informs me, as I load it into the car beside his car seat.

I pause for a minute and then decide this is not going to be one of those times where reason is a factor. "There." I strap a seatbelt across one of the random bare branches sticking out. "He's got his seatbelt."

"Okay." He reaches out and strokes a branch lovingly. "Mama?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I will put socks and mittens onto him."

"I…think you probably will."

He nods solemnly and pats the branch. "Yes. I will."

* * *

><p>"Who should we tell him did it?" I wind a strand of lights around the back of the tree – the normal one – and pass the end to Luka.<p>

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…we haven't really talked about whether or not to tell him about Santa." We also haven't had the conversation about whether to tell him there's an omnipotent being in the sky who may or may not be judging him when he's naughty. I guess I'm a little bit torn, because one of the things that I love about Luka is his faith. Not his religious faith, exactly, but his capacity to believe in something after everything he's been through. And at the same time, I know that it tortures him sometimes, the guilt and the fear that goes along with being Catholic. I'm not sure I want Joe growing up with that hanging over his head, and sure, maybe it's comforting sometimes to believe that there's some higher power out there watching over him, but I'd kind of rather he grow up with a sense of personal responsibility. That whole thing about controlling your own destiny was a lesson I learned way too late.

Plus, I don't actually believe any of it, so raising him to believe it would involve a lot of lying on my part. I guess that's kind of my problem with Santa – if we tell him there's some magical guy with a white beard who sees him when he's sleeping and knows when he's awake, it's not much of a jump to tell him there's another guy with a white beard and magic powers who can see him, too.

Luka hands me back the string of lights. "I don't think there's anything wrong with letting him believe that."

"Except we're not _letting_ him, we're telling him."

He shrugs. "I guess I don't really think about it like that. When I was growing up, it was very religious. We had a kind of Santa, but not like here."

"And the baby Jesus brought you all the presents."

"How did you know that?" He takes over the rest of the lights since I can't reach.

"Magic."

"Come on."

I roll my eyes. "The Internet, Luka, what do you think? I'm trying to learn some of this stuff so I don't make an idiot of myself in front of your family."

"You could have asked me."

"I could have, but I read about this stuff sometimes when I'm at work and there's nothing to do." Or when I have charting to do and want to procrastinate.

"What else do you read about?"

"I…different stuff. I don't know."

He tucks the end of the light strand out of sight. "There. Want to turn it on?"

"I don't know, maybe you should do it. A Slav _did_ invent alternating current, after all."

He grins. "You read about Tesla?"

"Of course. He was the second most important Slav in the world."

"Who's the first?" He eyes me hopefully.

I shrug. "Johnny Pesky."

"Who?"

"God, Luka, if you're going to live in Boston, you really ought to know this stuff. He was a very famous player for the Red Sox." I've found that a basic knowledge of Boston sports culture comes in handy in an emergency room, in particular when it comes to dealing with drunken fans.

"You – he was a baseball player?" He's starting to get that same pout as Joe does when he doesn't get what he wants.

I take the cord for the lights and plug them in. "What do you think?"

"It's…nice." He eyes me.

I go over to where he's standing and slide my arms around his waist. "You know who the most important one is to _me._ And the sexiest."

"If it's Tesla, we're not using electricity anymore."

"It's not."

"Good." He reaches down and takes my arms from around his waist and moves them to his neck. I feel his hands on my hips, and I raise myself up on my toes to kiss him. He's smiling when I draw back. "Let's just tell him that Santa did it, yeah?"

"You don't think it's…I don't know. Misleading?"

"No." He lets his hand move slowly up my waist until he's cupping my cheek. "It's one of those things. Kids need something like that, something innocent. There's enough bad things out there."

I nod. "Did Jasna and Marko believe in Santa?"

He grins. "Marko didn't get it, but Jasna – she did. She loved Christmas. Not just the presents, the religious stuff, helping Danijela's mother to cook. It was like somebody gave her ten cups of coffee at the start of December."

"I wonder where she got that?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't like it as much then. It was nice, but…I like it better now."

"Yeah?"

He pulls me over to the couch and sits down. I settle myself beside him and rest my head on my hand, just watching him.

"It was hard for me, for a long time, to just get through it. I celebrated it with Sam and Alex, but it wasn't – it was still sad. Empty." He chews his lip. "Sam wanted to get a tree. I – I couldn't do it, though. I got one of those plants, the red things, instead, and we just put presents around there."

"Did she know?"

"Why I didn't want one? No." He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. "You did, though."

"Yeah. I did."

He nods. "When…when we were back together. It started to feel…happy again. The first Christmas we had, I remember, I was so happy that it scared me."

"I was too." And even more scared once I found out I was pregnant.

"It wasn't until you told me about the baby that I got it. Why I hated it so much before, why I couldn't have a tree. I didn't have a family. Sam and Alex and I, we were never a family. And I didn't want to go through that, remembering how we used to decorate the tree, Danijela and the kids and I."

"You got me a tree." We had been driving back from the party at Ike's, and we hadn't really talked yet. He'd just asked if I would rather go to his place or mine, and I knew it was because he wanted me to be comfortable, even though there was a bunch of food at his place and we'd planned to spend the night there. I told him my place, and we'd just started heading there and he pulled over with no warning whatsoever at some little tree stand and told me we needed one if we were going to have a proper Christmas.

"I – even though I knew you weren't sure about the baby, all I could think about was decorating our tree. I had this picture of it in my head, of you watching while I would hold him up to put the angel on the top."

"Star."

"What?"

"We had a star on the top. And I recall, you lifted _me_ up to put it on top." It was ridiculous and silly and the first time I'd felt okay since telling him I was pregnant. Since I found out, really. And I think he knew that, and the fact that he knew how to make me feel like that went a long way.

He smiles. "Right."

"Marko put the angel on top," I say softly. I'm not jealous. I know he doesn't think I'm Danijela and he doesn't think Joe is Marko.

"Yeah."

"We should decorate our tree." I stand up and hold out a hand. "We can save the star for Joe."

"Okay." He leans down and kisses me again. "Thank you."

"If you still want to hold me up in the air, I think there's some mistletoe around here somewhere that needs to be taped up."

"Nope."

I frown. "What do you mean? I definitely saw it in here."

"Mm…it used to be in there. Now it's somewhere else."

"And where might that be?"

He gives me one of those mysterious little smiles, the ones that make me feel a little bit tingly. "You'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

><p>I have to work my regular shift on Christmas Eve, which I can't really complain about, seeing as I don't have to work Christmas Day and we'll be in Croatia over New Year's. I did offer to work the Saturday after we get back, but Luka kind of put his foot down on that one.<p>

Apparently I don't get to make decisions about how to spend my birthday.

The ER is pretty quiet – I've gotten used to the Christmas routine, and it's not much different in Boston than in Chicago. People still fall off their roofs stringing lights, somebody still cuts their hand trying to cut down a last-minute tree, at least one person shows up with a Christmas ornament stuck in someplace it shouldn't be. We get the Christmas drunks, too, the homeless kind and the kind that are just trying to escape the holidays, and as unpleasant as it is to deal with people who are vomiting and obnoxious, I try my best to be sympathetic. I could easily have wound up in their place, and I think if Luka and Joe weren't with me, if they were in Croatia themselves, or if we hadn't worked things out, tonight would be excruciating. As much as I think I've changed, grown up over the past year, I don't think I'd make it through Christmas sober if things had wound up differently.

At the same time, though, I really don't like being vomited on.

I'm changing into a clean pair of scrubs when my phone rings. "Hello?"

"Hi, yeah, this is the North Pole. I'm in charge of checking the list, and I have an Abby Lockhart down as 'naughty.'"

I grin. "You might want to double check. I have it on good authority that her brother's a total jerk."

"Well yeah, with _you_ as my example."

"Hey. I was rebellious, that's different." I'm still sort of proud of myself for pissing the nuns off as much as I did during Catholic school.

"Nuh-uh."

"Yu-huh." I peek out the door to see if there are any emergencies I need to deal with. All quiet. "How are you?"

"Medicated! It's great, they just invented chocolate lithium."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yeah, but you were _thinking_ it."

I sit down and sigh a little. "Can we not do this?"

I hear him laugh. "I'm just giving you shit, Abby. I'm fine. Mom's driving me nuts, so that's normal, I got a dog, got a girlfriend, lost the girlfriend, kept the dog. Sparky and I are enjoying the bachelor life."

"You named your dog _Sparky_?"

"He's a Dalmatian. I'm thinking of becoming an EMT, follow in your footsteps. I thought I'd get a dog to go with my fire truck."

"EMTs don't drive fire trucks." I leave the rest of what he said alone. God forbid I encourage him.

"No, I was just going to get my own, you know, to cruise for ladies."

I snort. "Good luck parallel parking that thing."

"Speaking of Dalmatians, how's Vlad?"

"You know his name is Luka."

"That's what he told _you_. But I'm guessing he goes by 'Vlad' when he meets with his KGB handlers."

"He's Croatian, not Russian." I'm trying not to laugh and it's not going well.

"Close enough. They probably recruited him from there so it'd be less obvious when he established his cover."

"You really need to quit watching 'Alias' and '24' all the time."

"How's Joe-cula? Are his fangs coming in yet?"

"Oh, come on, you can't mix KGB _and_ vampire jokes, it doesn't work like that."

"Oh, the KGB totally uses vampires as operatives. Less messy when they kill, 'cause they drink all the blood."

"How long is this going to go on?"

"I'll stop when you stop bothering me about taking my meds."

"Jerk."

"Nag."

"Mom said you called Eddie."

He groans. "Just to get her off my back. You think she nags you, try living in driving distance."

"You chose to move back there."

"I was cycling, I made poor choices."

No shit. "Ah."

"Plus, she cooks for me and does my laundry."

"She does not."

"It makes her feel better, who am I to stand in the way of that?"

"A thirty-three-year-old man who is way too old to be having his mother do his laundry and cook for him."

"Oh and tell me Vlad doesn't do the cooking and cleaning."

I hesitate. "Not the _laundry_."

"Yeah, but if he volunteered – "

"That's different. He's not my mother."

"I bet that'd make sex really awkward."

"Eew. God, just – eew. That was so uncalled for."

"Mom and Eddie used to have sex. Naked. And they did it while you were in the next room. They probably did it – "

"Stop or I'll kill you. I'll reach through the phone and kill you if you don't shut up right now."

"But it's so much fun messing with you."

"I used to change your diapers, remember. I can share details with your future girlfriends. I can take out newspaper ads for the entire Mid-West, and I'll put that picture of you buck naked with a diaper on your head on the front page."

"Come on. That won't make front-page news."

"It will if I also kill you."

"I'm going to tell Mom you threatened to kill me. Twice."

"I'll tell her where you used to keep your porn and how you blew up the mailbox."

"I'll tell her – "

"Okay, this could go on for like, forever, and I'm at work." Still, it's nice to do this, tease each other like we should have when we were younger. We argued, sure, but not the same way most siblings probably do. We argued a lot more like a parent and child. He resented the hell out of me trying to take care of him and I resented him enabling Maggie when she'd go off the rails. I guess maybe neither of us wanted to confront whatever truth there was to that. It would scare me sometimes when he actually let me take care of him, because part of me enjoyed it, and I knew if I let myself enjoy it, if I let myself feel needed, I might let myself want my own child someday. And for Eric, I have to wonder if he ever recognized the way he'd enjoy Maggie's manic episodes, and if it occurred to him that maybe there was a reason, that maybe he was bipolar, too.

I guess I can't blame either of us for not wanting to see those things.

"Paging Dr. Lockhart. Dr. Lockhart to the operating room, we have someone in critical need of being nagged."

I ignore him. "So, are you going to tell about the phone call with Eddie?"

"You know how it's really awkward when you get set up on a blind date and you're not attracted to them at all?"

"Unfortunately."

"It was kind of like that, but worse. After five minutes I pretended someone was ringing my doorbell. Like, I went out and rang it myself, in case he could hear."

"Good thinking."

"I don't know. I don't know what he wants, or what Mom wants. It's stupid. 'Oh hey, I'm Eric, the son you barely knew.' It would be less awkward if Jerry Springer were hosting it."

"See, that's what I said. I'm positive she sent letters to Oprah to see if we could be on the show."

"Mom hopping up and down on Oprah's couch would be hilarious."

"I don't think so." As though Maggie doesn't drive me nuts enough without a national audience.

"You need to loosen up."

"Sure, when you start doing your own laundry." I hear sirens and the light over the door – which is referred to as the O.S. light for "oh shit" – starts blinking. "I gotta go. There's a patient coming in."

"Try not to get sued."

"Shut up. I love you. Merry Christmas." I wish I could hug him. I haven't seen him in so long that I'm not even sure he looks like I remember him.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Chocula. Love you, too."

* * *

><p>I come home at half past eight to find Luka snoring softly on the couch and Joe slumped beside him, fighting to stay awake as "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" plays on the television. He waves to me but doesn't move, and I lean down to whisper in Luka's ear.<p>

"Merry Christmas Eve."

He groans a little as he opens his eyes and then pulls me down onto his lap. "Just what I wanted for Christmas."

"Back off, Rudolph. Where are your antlers?"

He nods to Joe. "He wanted to put them on that panda you hate. If you thought it was creepy before, you should go look."

"Hey, Joe. Do you want to go get into your pajamas and brush your teeth before Santa comes?"

"Is night." He looks a little bit more awake at the mention of Santa. "How does he find my tree?"

"Night-vision goggles," Luka tells him.

"Santa has very advanced technology," I add.

Joe nods wisely. "Okay. I will go into bed now."

"I wish this worked every night," Luka murmurs.

I bring Joe upstairs to get ready for bed, and sure enough, that panda is sitting next to his tree, looking like some sort of mutant creature. I wonder if I can get away with telling him it joined Santa's sled team and "left" in the middle of the night.

"Buzz watches for Santa," Joe tells me as I help him into his pajamas. "And helps to park his sled." He sets Buzz right under the window and looks at me proudly. "Am ready. I go to sleep."

I think now I get it, the whole thing about it being something for children to believe in and be excited about. It's not just about it being fun, or about being greedy, because it's not as though kids need Santa for them to feel overly entitled. It's about something being out there that's good, that's intended to make them happy and nothing else. He's two and a half and he's been through some pretty rough stuff already, and it's not as though life is going to get easier as he grows up. He should be as happy and as innocent as possible right now, and I feel like it's on me to make that happen.

Besides, this is the easiest time getting him into bed I've had since he was an infant. I'm not about to deny myself that gift.

I tuck him in and change into my own pajamas – not exactly the little red and white number from a few years ago, but I decide black silk pants and a camisole is an appropriate balance between sexy and comfortable. Luka has the presents to go under the tree stacked on the table when I come downstairs, and I set one more down on the table and slide one arm around his waist. "You ready?"

He nods and the way he looks at me then sends little shivers down my spine all the way to my toes.

After that first year, when he gave me the compass and, well, I gave him the news that I was pregnant, we've exchanged gifts on Christmas Eve. Just one – the important one, whatever that is – and even though he said it was breaking with the tradition he grew up with, he liked having a new tradition that was ours.

He takes a little box from the pile and I take the one I brought downstairs with me and we sit together on the couch, in front of the tree. I bite my lip. "Do you want to go first or second?"

"Second, if that's okay."

I nod and hand him his gift, wrapped in one of those department store shirt boxes and green paper. I thought a lot about what to give him, whether this was the right thing, but however much I thought about giving him something else tonight, this was really the only thing that meant something.

He unwraps the box and lifts off the cover. His eyebrows furrow a little and he looks at the stack of paper inside. "I - ?"

I cut him off. "It kind of comes with an explanation." Suddenly I'm sort of terrified and I wonder if this is one of those things that sounded better in my head. "I, um…" He sets the box down and cups my cheek to tilt my head up toward his. As soon as he touches me, I relax. "When I was in, um…in rehab, one of the things they had me do was write a letter to you. Not to send, or for anybody to read, just…someplace to write down all the things I wanted to say to you but hadn't, the stuff I was afraid to tell you. And…I did. I think the idea was for it to be a couple of pages, but the more I wrote, the more I realized all the stuff I hadn't told you."

"When we got back from Croatia, and you…uh, when you moved out…I started writing more of it. Partly because I missed you and it felt almost like talking to you, but also because…I had more stuff to say. Not just about what happened or how much I missed you, but…other stuff. Things I thought about when you weren't around, when Joe was with you and it was just me, just – I had a lot of time to think." I nod to the stack of papers in the box. "So that's…it's all of it. The stuff I've wanted to say to you, or that I'm afraid to say, or that…the stuff I was afraid I wouldn't get a chance to. And I mean, it's not everything, but…it's close." I look at him and bite my lip again. "The thing is…I'm giving it to you, and it's yours, to do whatever you want, but I, um, I don't want you to read it. Not yet. I want to tell you all that stuff myself, and it'll probably take awhile, but at least – unless something happens or you feel like you need to understand things and maybe I'm not doing a very good job of explaining – for now, maybe for a couple of years, I want you to…save it. If that's okay."

He leans down very slowly and kisses me and it's soft at first and then almost bruising. He pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. "It's okay." I close my eyes and I feel him move to kiss my forehead, and then my cheekbone, and then his head dips down and I feel his breath on my shoulder and his lips right under my jaw. "Thank you, Abby." His hands drift from my face to trace along my spine, and I know he understands that it's not just a bunch of letters I'm giving him.

I nod a little. "The, um…the envelope on top. You can read that one. If you want, I mean – not now, but sometime when I'm not around, just – it would feel weird otherwise."

"Are you sure?"

"That it would be weird or that you can read it?" He just smiles. "Yes, I'm sure. It – I wrote it the night before our anniversary, to give to you, and then…I chickened out. And then after you came and found me and all that stuff, I sort of forgot about it."

He shakes his head a little and kisses me again, and I tilt my head back and we're in real danger of falling onto the floor until he pulls me back toward him. "Is this part of my present, too?"

"Do you want it to be?"

He laughs. "I want you to open yours. And then…maybe we can finish this."

"Okay." I shift a little, and he hands me a little white box with a gold ribbon, maybe the size of…actually, it's about the same size as the compass. Although I don't think he got me another one. "You finally got me that glass frog I wanted?"

"Just open it."

I untie the ribbon and lift the lid and there's another box, and I know he's not the most predictable when it comes to presents, but I'm pretty sure it's a jewelry box. I take it out and glance at him and he's just got this expression on his face like he's afraid of my reaction.

Which I understand as soon as I open the box.

I've always thought it was incredibly corny and unrealistic and a little bit insulting, the way women almost always react in the movies when the guy proposes. Like it's some huge shock, which, if it is, is sort of stupid because I know I'm not an expert in relationships or communication, but you'd kind of hope there had been some sort of discussion about it beforehand. I mean, the idea that it's entirely up to the guy to make that decision, and that the whole thing hinges on him buying the perfect ring and proposing in some sort of wildly romantic way, and that it has any bearing on whether or not two people actually want to be together – it's all incredibly stupid, as far as I'm concerned.

And I still think it's stupid, but looking at the ring sitting there in the box, I kind of get the part about it being wildly romantic.

I finally manage to regain the power of speech, sort of. "I – you didn't – "

"I know." He looks at me a little shyly. "I thought…we did everything else out of order…why not this, too?"

"We're…I mean we already – " This speech thing isn't going well.

"I know we're married. I – I guess it's not an engagement ring, it's like…" He has that look on his face like he can't find the right word.

"A promise."

"Yeah. It's a promise." He takes the box from me and takes the ring out. "When I told you I wasn't going to let anything take this away…I forgot that, I think. I got scared, and I didn't do a very good job of keeping the promises I made when we got married. So this is my way of saying I'll do better. That I won't forget again."

I reach up and brush my fingers across his temple and down his cheek, and then he takes my hand and kisses it before sliding the ring on my finger. "Luka…" My voice is barely audible.

"Merry Christmas, Abby."


	16. Za Dobra Stara Vremena

A/N: So, here we are at the Croatia part (which only took about two years) and I figure I should make it clear that it will take place over the next three chapters (including this one). This should be obvious by the end of the chapter, but sometimes I think things are obvious and they're not. So, yeah. Anyway, the big disclaimers will come later and I'll spare you all a spiel on veracity and international documentation and seven-hundred page court decisions and just say that some of the places portrayed in this chapter are real and that I don't own any people or places portrayed herein, even if I'd like very much to own the Kraš chocolate factory, and maybe some oompa loompas to go along with it.

* * *

><p><strong>"Za Dobra Stara Vremena"<strong>

We take a redeye to Zagreb the Saturday after Christmas – truth be told, I'm kind of glad we're going there and not Dubrovnik, at least this time. We'll probably go back there at some point – for now, they're keeping the house, renting it to tourists – but at least right now, I'm relieved that we're going somewhere different. I think it would be too much, too many memories of the last time I was there. It's bad enough remembering how the last time I flew to Croatia, I was alone and scared shitless that I was going to end up coming home alone, too. Permanently.

And see, I'd say all that to Luka, but one of the perks of this whole talking thing we've got going is that some of this stuff doesn't have to be vocalized. He already knows, and as we're taxiing down the runway and Joe is digging his foot into my thigh while he tries to see out the window, I feel Luka take my hand and squeeze it and I look over at him and all of a sudden I'm not really dwelling on the past. I'm just happy that we're here now, doing this together.

We take turns napping and entertaining Joe through the flight, and I work on stumbling my way through the Croatian phrase book Luka got me. It seems like a short trip compared to the last time. I guess time flies when you're not feeling like shit and watching the little bottles of alcohol on the cart every time the stewardess goes by.

The smaller flight from Austria to Zagreb is not as pleasant, especially since the rows are two across and I end up sitting about a dozen rows ahead of Luka and Joe next to an elderly Greek woman who talks to me for the entire flight. In Greek. When we disembark, she hugs me and kisses my cheek and totters off, leaving me feeling like maybe I've stumbled into a Croatian game show. Luka hands a sleeping Joe over to me and squints. "You make a new friend?"

"Or I agreed to marry her grandson. I'm not really sure. She seemed to take nodding politely as a form of consent."

"I see." He looks at me carefully, like he's trying to read my mind. "Ready?"

"I don't know. I was kind of thinking I'd just follow her and see how her grandson turns out. I think she said something about baklava."

He slips his arm around my waist. "Come on. Niko's meeting us at the baggage claim."

I hold Joe a little tighter and manage to keep my mouth shut. I'm starting to wonder if this was such a good idea. As happy as I am to be here with Luka and Joe, I'm about as excited to see Niko as I am to see one of the dead mice the neighbor's cat keeps leaving on the front steps. Except I can't make Luka pick his brother up with a shovel and fling him in the bushes.

Not that I wouldn't pay good money to see him try.

We wander through the airport, following the signs, and it's weird, because even though I've never been here, there's a kind of familiarity. I think maybe it's because I've gotten used to the candy Luka brings back from the Eastern European market and to the soccer team's colors that every other person in the airport seems to be wearing and to the sound of Luka talking to Joe – or sometimes to himself – in Croatian. It's kind of like I'm surrounded by Luka, which isn't the worst feeling in the world.

We're about two steps past the security exit when somebody comes barreling toward us. Luka drops the bags and bends down in time to catch Nata and scoop her into a hug. He laughs and says something to her before letting her down.

"In _English_, Uncle Luka!"

"Okay, in English. What did you do with your father?"

"He is too slow for me." She turns to me and grins. "Hello, Aunt Abby!"

Aunt Abby. It kind of creeps me out, for some reason. I manage a smile. "Hi, Nata. You know, you can just call me Abby, if you want."

"Nata!" I see Niko coming toward us, a little out of breath. He says something to Nata that doesn't sound particularly happy.

She sighs. "But you weren't walking fast enough!"

Niko huffs a little and tugs gently on one of her braids. "Twelve years old and she is like this. I am sending her home in a box with you."

Luka laughs again and reaches out a hand, which Niko looks at dubiously. "_Odjebi_. You have lived in America too long. You forget how to hug your brother?"

"I didn't want to make you feel short," Luka responds, and grabs Niko in a hug. "I'm only thinking about your feelings."

I recognize a couple of words in Niko's reply, and they're not the polite kind. When he draws back, he glances at me and his smile fades into a sort of forced smirk. "Hello, Abby. You look well."

"Hi, Niko." I'm kind of glad there's a sleeping toddler occupying my arms. At least this way we don't have to have some awkward half-hug. "Thanks for coming to get us."

He shrugs. "What else would I do?"

I don't say anything, not that I think he wants me to. We wait by the carousel for the bags, and Nata chatters to me, asking about the flight, whether there were movies, if Joe liked it – a thousand and one questions, but hey, I'll take it. At least she likes me.

As we're driving back, Luka and Niko revert to Croatian, but Nata keeps on going in English. Luka asks her something, in Croatian, and she sighs dramatically. "You know I am trying to win a prize, it's not fair to trick me."

"What?"

She rolls her eyes. "I made a bet. Tata doesn't think I can speak English for the whole week you are here. If I can do it, he says he will give me two hundred kuna. _And_ I won't have to make my bed for the whole month."

"Wow." Luka whistles. "That's a pretty good bet."

"I'm going to win it." Nata reaches out and prods Niko in the shoulder. "And Tata will be poor."

I catch Luka's eye. "No painted chickens, huh?"

He grins, and Niko glances at me in the mirror. "You know about that?"

"About the green chicken? Yes. Luka told me." Well, duh. Not like anyone else would have. But I sort of feel like it's necessary to emphasize that, yes, my husband does talk to me about his past, thank you very much.

"He was always very easy to trick." Niko's still looking at me in the rearview mirror. "Hopefully he has learned his lesson."

* * *

><p>I have to give Joe some serious credit for how well he's handling the trip – by the time we arrive at Niko's place, he's alert and has managed to get past his initial misgivings about Nata. I mean, getting nine hours of sleep probably helped. That's the thing about Luka and Joe – they're both active sleepers, but they can also fall asleep anywhere and stay that way.<p>

Ana comes out to greet us and says that Stipe is being persistent and won't leave the computer. I'm pretty sure she means obstinate, but I keep that to myself. She smiles and says welcome to their home and kisses my cheek before turning her attention to Joe. I don't feel put out. I've sort of gotten used to the fact that holding Joe means I'm essentially invisible.

Not that I blame anyone – he's really pretty cute.

Ana shows us upstairs to our room – well, Nata's room, with two beds pushed together and a sleeping bag for Joe that I doubt he'll use. I politely thank Nata, and she shrugs and says it's fine, because she's older so she gets to have the spare cot and Stipe can sleep on the floor.

"Besides," Ana adds, "that's usually how we find him in the morning."

Huh. Maybe the active sleep habits are a family trait.

She goes downstairs to finish making lunch and sends Nata to drag her brother from his computer. Niko stands in the doorway for a minute, looking at us like we're teenagers and he doesn't trust us to be alone, and then mumbles something about helping Ana.

Luka looks at me once he's left and smiles a little. "You okay?"

I shrug. "Yeah." It's not entirely true, and maybe not being completely honest is a step backward for us, but this is his family, and I don't want to ruin it for him just because his brother doesn't like me.

Apparently it doesn't matter, since he can see right through me. "Liar," he says softly, and runs his fingers over my arm. "I know Niko is being a – " He glances at Joe. "I know he's being unfriendly. He'll get past it, he's just protective."

"I'm not so sure he will."

"I am. He's stubborn, but he's not stupid. He'll see what I see."

I raise my eyebrows. "Well, I hope not _all_ of what you see."

Luka laughs. "Maybe just the other stuff."

"Okay, good, because I want him to like me, but not like you like me."

He slides his arm around my shoulder. "Nobody could like you like I do."

* * *

><p>We just sort of hang out for the rest of the day, and by the time I put Joe to bed, I'm exhausted, myself. I feel a little bad but it's getting to the point that I can't really keep my eyes open, and Luka gets the hint and excuses us both.<p>

"You don't have to go to bed yet," I whisper as he's changing into his pajamas. "I don't mind. I have company." Joe snuggles closer to me, as if to emphasize the point.

"I'm just as tired as you." He lies down beside me, trying to avoid the space between the two mattresses. "Not much room for three of us, huh?"

"I'd kick him out, but he's sort of cute."

Luka runs his fingers lightly across Joe's head, and then lets them drift up my arm 'til he's cupping my cheek. "Guess we'll have to manage."

"Guess we will."

"You think you'd be up for sightseeing tomorrow?"

"That wouldn't be…like, incredibly boring for you?"

He smiles. "Not really. The last time I was here was just before my father moved back to Dubrovnik. And it's not like he was all that interested in touring the old city. Mostly we sat at the same café, drinking coffee and talking."

"And getting piss drunk together once it was dark?"

"Maybe." He bites his lip. "But it would be nice, seeing those places again. With you and Joe. I can show you where I went to gymnasium."

"Where you spent your corrupted youth?"

He shifts on the mattress. "Until Danijela got a hold of me, at least. After that I had to reform my image."

"The classic eighties romance story, huh?"

"Mmhmm." He reaches out an arm and lets it rest across both me and Joe. "My mother was certainly relieved."

"Bet she'd have hated me, huh?"

He blinks a few times and looks at me in that way he has, where it makes me shiver a little. "It wouldn't have mattered to her that you're not Catholic. You still make me better."

"You think?"

"I think I haven't had a drink in almost a year, I've smoked maybe twice, and I've managed to make an honest woman of you." There's a little glint in his eye. "And even if none of that were true, I'd still be happier than she ever got to see me."

I run my fingers over the back of his hand. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry you never got to meet her." He pauses. "Or my father."

"Me too."

"You…" He breathes out softly. "You know it wasn't that I didn't think he'd like you, right?"

"I know."

"Because he would have. Did. Even though – "

"I know, Luka." Joe makes a whining sound in his sleep and rolls over, settling himself in the dip where the two mattresses meet. "You were trying to prove to him that you were a good son."

"Yeah," he says softly.

"Even though he already knew that."

"Yeah."

"And you were afraid if I was there, you wouldn't be able to be a good son and a good husband at the same time, because you had it in your head that I was going to get scared off by the fact that you had a life before me."

He doesn't say anything for a minute, just moves his hand from my waist to stroke Joe's hair. When he does speak, it sounds pained. "Yes."

"I know you have a past, Luka. And I know that you were young when you met Danijela and so she was part of the family, and that your brother and your father must've missed her. And that they missed Jasna and Marko. And even if Niko hates me, I know it doesn't have anything to do with Danijela."

He looks at me and there's a little smile playing on his lips. "I can be pretty stupid sometimes, huh?"

"I try to stay focused on the 'pretty' part."

"I see."

"I love you. Don't be an idiot."

"I thought I told you not to call me names?" He's grinning now.

I lay a hand on Joe's back. "Quiet or you'll wake him."

"You better be glad he's here to protect you."

"I am."

He leans up and over Joe and kisses me lightly, then draws back just enough that his bangs are brushing my forehead. "I love you, too, Abby."

* * *

><p>"I really just can't believe you. It's like we've never met."<p>

"I said I was sorry."

"Uh-huh."

"Just pick out your chocolate so I can arrange for it to be airlifted to Niko's."

"You're mocking me?"

He rests his palm against the small of my back. "Yes. I'm mocking you."

I glance down at Joe, who has a chocolate clutched in each hand. "Tata is making fun of us, Joe. That's not very nice, is it?"

"No." He holds up a hand. "I want another."

"You already have two chocolates." Luka picks him up. "One in each hand. Where are you going to put another one?"

Joe shrugs. "You carry."

Luka looks over at me with a disbelieving smile. "In case there was any doubt he was yours…"

"We're both good at problem-solving?"

"Something like that."

I pay for what I maintain is a completely acceptable amount of chocolate and we head back out to the main square. "What's next?"

"You okay if we walk some more?"

I nod. "As long as you don't mind carrying him for awhile. My arms are kind of tired."

"From the chocolate?" He's trying not to smile and doing a pretty bad job of it.

"From the chocolate, and the figs, and the soccer jersey, and the new coffee pot, and the coffee, and – "

"Okay, okay. I get it. I bought things, too."

"And I'm carrying them for you, because I'm all about equality and female empowerment and all that, even though you're much bigger than me and I did grow our child all by myself."

He glances at me. "I think I helped a _little_."

"Well, sure. But that was the fun part, and then you got to sit back and relax while I did all the work."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about how I fed you. That was a pretty big commitment."

I give him a look of mock outrage. "Are you saying I ate too much?"

"I would never say that. I'm just saying, you don't cook, and when it was three 'o clock and you were licking the foil from the Pop-Tarts, I was the one who made you whatever it was you wanted."

"Well…that's a fair point. Although I only licked the foil the one time, and it was because I was pretty sure I was going to die without one."

"How do you not have a thousand cavities?"

I unwrap a chocolate bar and bite off a corner. "I guess nature had to throw something good in the genetic pool. Chocolate?"

He stops, and I stop along with him, and hold up the bar so he can take a bite. Joe looks up at Luka and then at me with an expression of absolute dismay. "I want it," he whines.

I break off a small piece and hand it to him. The transformation from desolation to sheer joy makes me laugh. "At least we're both easy to please," I tell Luka.

"Yeah." He smiles. "Come on, it's a little further."

"What is?"

He brushes his fingers against mine, and I take his hand. "You'll see."

We walk down a couple of little streets, and it's really sort of fascinating, all the outdoor cafés and people sitting, drinking coffee. Some of them are alone, but mostly it's groups, the tables of three or four men or women just sitting and talking. I mean, tables and tables of them, and it's pretty cold out. There's this realization that hits me that since we moved to Cambridge, we've done that ourselves, sat at the kitchen table at night, after Joe's in bed, drinking tea – I don't think it would be real conducive to sleeping if we were drinking Turkish jet fuel – and talking. Not every night, but enough that it's something I look forward to, that peaceful time when it's just us and we're not running around doing ten things at once. Just enjoying the company.

Looking around at people, particularly the ones wearing business suits, I sort of have to think that things would be better if more people did that.

We emerge onto a larger road, and there's less cafés here, and more flags hanging from buildings.

"Are these embassies?"

"Some of them." Luka nods to a building across the street. "Some of our government buildings, too. Here, cross the street."

We do, and I realize I missed the main feature of what's here. "It's beautiful."

Luka grins and looks around the park. "Almost like I remember. This was my mother's favorite place in Zagreb. The train station is at the other end. She used to come here to wait for my father when he was on a long trip."

"That's sweet."

"Yeah. She…even though they'd been together for…I don't know, ever, she hated for him to leave. After the war started, he took a job here so he wouldn't have to leave her." I press myself a little closer to him, and he moves his free arm around my shoulder and hugs me to him. "She wasn't the same person after the war. Not just because of what happened to me, to the kids, but…what happened to the country, I think, broke her heart. Yugoslavia was like some greater…I don't know…force, maybe. It signified something to her that I never really understood."

"I didn't know that." I shift the bags hanging from my shoulder and without a word, he sets Joe on the ground and takes the bags from me. I watch Joe for a minute, looking around in amazement at the scenery before running ahead of us to inspect a birch tree. "I guess I never really thought…I don't know. I guess all the stuff they told us in school about socialism and Marxism and how the Soviets and the Yugoslavs and the Cubans were all coming to get us stuck more than I thought."

"A Yugoslav did come to get you, though."

I laugh. "That's true."

"She was an idealist – my mother, I mean. I think seeing the ugly side of the world was too much."

"You're an idealist."

We stop walking as Joe begins scooping snow off a bench and onto the ground, giggling to himself every time he drops a handful. "You think so?"

"Of course. I mean, in anybody else, it would annoy me, but…I kind of like that about you."

"Yeah?"

I nod, and bend down to help Joe pull his mitten back on. "Both of us can't be pessimists."

"I don't know. I think maybe you're getting a little bit more…sunny."

I give him a look. "Sunny?"

"You know, when it's like…a little bit cloudy but there's sun, too."

"You're having a rough time with the nuances of metaphor now that we're here, aren't you?"

"Oh, come on."

"Fine. I'm like when it's sunny, but there are clouds, so you don't realize there are UV rays giving you a melanoma because you didn't think to put on sunblock."

"I don't think so."

I pick up a handful of snow. "Maybe I'm like a mild blizzard. I inspire people to fill the bathtub with water in case the pipes freeze and I cause the roads to close."

"I've always said you could stop traffic." He holds up a hand. "Don't throw that at me."

I eye him, and he starts backing up a little. "See, now that you've told me not to…"

"I take it back."

I look down at Joe. "What do you think, should I throw it at Tata?"

He considers. "No."

"No?"

"No. Is not nice."

I have to fight to keep from smiling too much. "Okay. You're right, I won't throw it. I'll be nice to Tata."

"Tata is nice."

I pick Joe up again and sort of watch Luka for a moment, surrounded by this whole city, by his history. Sometimes it's more overwhelming than I realize, how much about him I still don't know. But I kind of have to think that it's more things like people and places and not that I don't know who he is, because I do. I know he was different before, but not that different. The stuff I really love about him, his heart and his patience and how he does things, like going to Vukovar, that scare the hell out of him because he's willing to believe that it might make things better – I _know_ that stuff has always been who he is.

I kiss Joe's head. "Yeah. I think so, too."

* * *

><p>We come back to find Ana cooking – to say she's cooking up a storm would be an understatement; it's more like a hurricane – and Nata and Stipe doing their parts to help while a soccer game plays on television. I take Joe upstairs for a late nap and come down to find Luka and Niko lounging on the couch, watching the game. Luka gestures for me to sit beside him, and I do. "You look comfortable."<p>

He shrugs. "Ana threw me out when I tried to help. She has a very strict policy about Kovač men in her kitchen."

"I see."

"He's allowed to relax, no?" Niko glances at me. "Or does he have to do all the cooking here, too?"

"Niko," Luka says sharply.

I have to fight back the urge to demonstrate my proficiency with Croatian swears. "Well, maybe I'm excluded from the policy. I'm going to go see if she needs anything."

"Abby," Luka murmurs.

"It's fine." I shrug. "I can learn something new."

As soon as I walk into the kitchen, Ana smiles at me. "Can I get you something?"

"Actually, I was going to see if you wanted some help."

She purses her lips. "Luka says you don't cook."

"I…not really, but if there's something…you know, simple I could do – "

"No, I meant, it must have been quick, Niko scaring you off. I guessed he could shut up for a little longer. Maybe not."

I'm not quite sure what to do with that. "I don't mind helping."

"Okay. Thank you." She points to a bowl of vegetables. "Will you make the salad?"

"Sure."

"You know how to make _šopska_?"

"I don't think so."

She smiles. "Just make small pieces. Tomato, onion, things in the bowl. And cheese, in the bowl in the refrigerator."

"I can probably manage not to screw that up too badly."

She gets out a cutting board and knife for me. In the living room, I can hear Luka and Niko arguing. Whether it's about soccer or about me, I have no clue.

"They are both asses, you know."

"I'm sorry?"

"The Kovač boys out there. Stipe's learning, but he's not as good at it yet. Tomi is our disappointment, not an ass at all." I don't say anything. Ana wipes her hands on a towel and peers around the kitchen door. "Luka, he was always a little bit better at letting things go, but not very much. Both of them are…what is the word…"

"Pig-headed?"

"No, no. That's unkind to pigs. They are much less cooperative than pigs."

I laugh. "Sometimes."

"He's gotten gentler, since before. Since you and he are together. And now, even more from last time he visited. I think maybe it worries Niko, he mistakes it for docile."

"Maybe he's worried that if Luka stops being an ass, he'll have no one to talk to?" I'm not sure if I'm pressing my luck.

Ana laughs, though. "I wouldn't worry, there are plenty of them in Zagreb."

"That's a relief."

"It's not easy. You know this. First it makes them seem heroic, and once you've fallen in love, you see that they're simply stubborn. And stupid. But you can't help yourself, it is too late by then. And so you work hard to see the other things, the good things. Otherwise you are left with no choice but to kill them while they sleep."

"I guess I do know."

"Problem with my Kovač is, he can't learn to stop being an ass, but he does learn how to say sorry. They are good at sorry."

I'm not sure if she means the sort of saying sorry I'm thinking of. I think maybe she does, but I'd just as soon not think about Niko like that. It would really ruin future apologies from Luka. "Not very good at accepting it, though."

"Depends. Niko feels guilty. After Danijela and the children were gone, he couldn't face Luka. Didn't know what to say. Just how to say what Luka was doing wrong. He was too scared of looking like a bad son compared with poor wounded bird."

"God, that sounds familiar."

"Sorry?"

I shrug. "Being afraid of being the bad son. Luka felt like he was the bad son for not being there for his father."

"Ah. Yes." Ana shakes her head. "Even when they feel sorry for themselves, they are stubborn. Nobody can tell them what idiots they are."

"Do you – do they ever talk about it?"

She snorts. "Luka and Niko? They're Croatian men, they don't know how to talk. They drink and fight, instead. You'll see, tomorrow, next day, one of them will have shape of a hand on side of his face. And he'll be the lucky brother."

"I can't picture Luka doing that. Not anymore."

Ana looks at me, eyebrows raised. "You are his wife. You know him, you've seen him change. But I have known Luka as long as I have known Niko. As much as he changes, he will always be a stubborn Croatian boy. Maybe I am wrong. I hope so. But I have one piece of advice for you."

"What's that?"

She nods toward where they're sitting. "Don't be afraid to tell either one of them to fuck off."


	17. Nesanica

**"Nesanica"**

_(Insomnia)_

* * *

><p>I don't think I've ever wanted a cigarette this badly in my life. Or, I guess I have, but it's been a while since I felt like I needed it to survive. I try to resist the urge but it's pointless and I give in, and take one out of Niko's pack that he leaves on the kitchen table and just sit there, on the back steps, freezing my ass off because my coat is upstairs and I'm not going back up there. Not right now.<p>

I watch the cloud of smoke and the cloud of my breath in the air until the cigarette is burning my fingers and I'm pretty sure my toes are going to snap off from the cold. Shit.

Joe is still asleep on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, and I just sit beside him, watching him sleep. He has the longest eyelashes. I know he got that from Luka, but even Luka's aren't _that_ long. I mean, it's ridiculous. I watch them flutter and I have to wonder what two-year-olds dream about. Flying with Buzz Lightyear through space, maybe. Although I'd kind of like to know that I show up in there, from time to time. That even though he's a baby – at least to me he is – he's able to recognize that I'm there to protect him. That I would do anything to do that, including fighting aliens if they're scaring him in his dream.

Although he's seen me freak out at the sight of a snake, so any alien fighting would probably be left to Luka.

It's starting to get light out when I hear footsteps, and turn to see Ana coming down the stairs. She gives me a sympathetic smile. "You could not sleep?"

"No." I brush Joe's hair off his face and stand up. "You know…snoring."

"They can do that. Would you like coffee?"

"Please. Why are you up this early?" I follow her into the kitchen.

She raises her eyebrows. "Mine is also snoring."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry. I was hoping to be wrong."

"It's okay."

"It is not all Luka's fault, if that will make you feel better."

"It doesn't. I – I'm not mad at him. If he wants to go out and get drunk with his brother, he's a big boy. It's his decision. Nobody's going to hold him down and pour the alcohol down his throat."

Ana opens the fridge. "Cream and sugar?"

"Just sugar."

"I think is his decision to drink. But I think is my husband, number one ass in Zagreb, who makes decision to buy the whole bottle of rakija. Expensive bottle, too."

"They drank a whole bottle?"

"Except what he spilled on himself."

"How do you know?"

She hands me a cup. "He is in bed now, hugging empty bottle like a teddy bear."

I have to fight off the urge to laugh. I'm not ready to laugh just yet, even if the thought of Niko cuddling an empty rakija bottle is kind of hilarious.

"Maybe Luka makes stupid decisions. His decisions, but his stupid decisions. I am not angry that Niko bought the bottle. Or that he snores. I am angry that he took Luka out after he knows Luka is not drinking, and he puts alcohol in front of him, and that he makes Luka feel like a bad brother if he does not drink. I do not need to see him do it to know what he does. I am angry because Luka is still the little brother and Niko is still the big brother. Their mother tells him before she dies, take care of Luka. This morning, their mother would be angry."

I lean back against the counter. "I didn't know that."

"Luka was still fragile then. She was afraid for him. Seeing her child broken like Luka was, it was what killed her. The pain was too much to watch."

"Luka told me she changed after the war. That a lot of it was because of Yugoslavia."

Ana shakes her head. "Rajka cried. When Luka would ask why, she told him that was why. She wanted to protect him. Keep him from knowing it was watching him suffer that made her suffer."

"Rajka?"

"Short for Radmila. Luka never told you her name?"

"He only calls her 'my mother.'"

"Sounds like Luka. If he still fit in her arms when he was grown, he would have let her hold him. Probably asked if she would."

I laugh this time. "Really?"

"Sometimes I think her heart wasn't broken at first. Sometimes I think she took the broken one from him so he could keep living."

The thought of that kind of takes the breath out of me. But I think I'd do the same for Joe if I could. Metaphorically or literally.

"Of course, she cried for Yugoslavia, too. Or…no. Not for Yugoslavia, for Tito."

"Tito?"

"She was in love with Tito. Madly. Only reason she married Josip was because he had same name. She found other reasons later, but mostly, same name."

I look over at Joe. "I think Luka forgot to mention that."

"Sorry?"

"He told me his father's name was Josip, but after I said I wanted to call him Joe for Joe Frazier, he never mentioned the thing about his mother and Tito. I kind of wish I'd known that she would've liked the name."

"He was young when Tito died. Probably didn't remember."

"Maybe." When I think about it, though, I think it's more like he didn't want to admit how much it meant to call him that. It's spelled like that, Josip, on his birth certificate, but I was the one who asked him how his father spelled it. It's like he was afraid of dragging his family into ours. Which I guess makes sense now.

"Her uncles and father – Luka and Niko's grandfather – fought with Tito's partisans. Rajka met him when she was a girl, maybe ten years old, and cried from how happy she was. The first time Niko brought me home for dinner, I saw two pictures in every room. One would be a saint, a different one in every room. But same Tito. Every room, there was Tito."

"I used to have similar feelings about David Bowie."

Ana looks at me with a little smile. "Funny."

"What is?"

"First thing I said to Niko when I meet his brother…he looks just like Slavic David Bowie."

* * *

><p>"Hi." His voice is soft. Tentative.<p>

I look up at him from where I'm sitting, on the back steps again, watching Stipe try to show Joe how to kick a soccer ball properly. "Morning."

He doesn't sit, doesn't say anything. Just stands behind me for a few minutes, and I can't make out his expression through his sunglasses.

Eventually I break the silence. "You're not in trouble, Luka. You can sit down."

He sighs, and does sit, leaning forward with his head in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I – god, I just, I wish I could…"

"I know." I rub his back gently. "You feel like shit?"

He groans a little and doesn't look up. "It feels like I was hit in the head with a bat."

"That's entirely possible. Niko's got a black eye, so who knows what you two got up to."

He looks at me, and winces as he moves his head. "He does?"

I nod. "Nata told him he looked like half man, half raccoon."

"I…I don't remember for sure, but…I think maybe…"

"That you were the one who punched him?"

"I think so. Maybe." I turn his face to get a look at him, and then the other way. He winces again. "What?"

"Checking for collateral damage."

He holds out his palms. "Just this."

"Let me guess…from doing cartwheels on broken glass?"

"Who knows."

I take one of his hands and inspect it. "You should let me put some betadine on that."

"Tell Ana, she'll get it from the store when she goes."

"Meanwhile, you'll have lost half your hand to gangrene. I have a kit upstairs."

I start to stand up, and he puts a hand on my knee. "Don't. I can wait."

We're both quiet again, him still cradling his head, me watching as Joe falls down and dissolves into a fit of giggles.

"You can be mad at me, you know. You should be."

"I really can't."

"Why not?" He looks at me with a pained expression.

I bite my lip and hesitate. "Because…I know what it's like. When I drink, it's because I'm an alcoholic. You were drinking because you missed being friends with your brother. If you'd lied to me and said you were going to the movies, or if you'd gotten in a car, I might be mad, but even then, I'd be a hypocrite." I glance at Joe again, and then back at Luka, huddled there next to me looking pathetic. "I've seen you turn down drinks maybe two dozen times in the last year, even when I told you it was okay. I get it, what that is, and I know last night didn't have anything to do with me."

He takes my hand, and I try to avoid touching the raw patches on his palm. "How do you know all that?"

"Because I know you, Luka. We've been at this awhile. Plus, when it comes to making stupid decisions around alcohol, I'm pretty much an expert."

"Abby," he murmurs.

"I don't get to be mad, Luka. Not about this. I know it's not an excuse for bad behavior, but I also know that there's a point when you're not in control anymore."

He studies me a moment. "What did I do?"

"What?"

"Last night. I did something, or said something, to you, didn't I?" His fingers close around mine, and I'm guessing his hand stings from it.

"Yes." I want to tell him it doesn't matter, that I know he didn't mean what he said and did last night, and that I forgive him, but I also know that when I told him what I'd done last year, it was the right thing. And even though this isn't the same, he needs to know, and we need to talk about it, and I'm not looking forward to it.

"Abby?"

I stand up. "I think…um…I think maybe we should take a walk."

* * *

><p>"No plain bandages, huh?" He looks down at his hands, which are covered in Buzz Lightyear Band-Aids.<p>

"Sorry. I kind of assumed Joe would be the one who'd need them."

"Ah." He's quiet again.

"Look, I just – I'm really not mad at you, Luka."

"What happened, Abby?" He looks at me, pleading, and I flash back on last year when he was asking the same thing and I wanted to lie to him then, too. "Did I – I didn't try…"

"No." I shake my head. I know what he's asking, if he tried to make love to me. If he tried to undress me, put his hands on me, anything like that, because I think he knows as well as I do that as much as I know he loves me and that he wouldn't hurt me, something like that would undo a lot of the trust we've built in the last few years. He knows about what happened with Richard's friend, and when I told him, I think it hurt him more to hear it than it hurt for me to tell him. He cried a little bit, and held me, and I know he'd never forgive himself if he'd done something like that, even if it was from a place of love. But see, I don't think he'd do that, not with me or anybody else, no matter how much he ever had to drink. He's done a lot of stupid things drunk, but I don't think he has it in him to ever hurt someone like that. All the stupid things he's done have been the result or the ramifications of him wanting to hurt himself.

That's something we have in common – self-destructive drunks, both of us.

I reach up and place my palm against his cheek, and he leans into me a little. "Abby?"

"You – you said some things. And I guess…I guess I'm not sure how much of it was…I just need you to tell me if it meant anything. Because if there's stuff you're not telling me because you think it would hurt me – "

"What did I say to you?"

"_Luka?" I squint in the dark. A pair of arms reach down and gather Joe up from beside me. I can smell alcohol on him. _

"_Shh. I am putting him in his bed." He's sort of stumbling over the words, like he's having a hard time with English._

_I sit up and watch him set Joe in his sleeping bag and cover him up, and he just sits there for a minute, kneeling over Joe. I can't see his expression, but I can take a guess, and when he turns around I can see I guessed right. There's enough moonlight that I can make out the angles of his face as he grimaces, eyes shut for just a second before he shuffles over to me and half-kneels on the bed before just collapsing beside me and pulling me close._

"_Abby," he whispers into my shoulder. "Abby. I'm sorry, Abby."_

_I stroke his hair. "For what?"_

"_I'm sorry," he says again. "I was supposed to be there. To protect you." He nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck and shoulder and I can feel tears running down his cheeks, onto my skin. He's shaking. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't protect you. I was supposed to and I couldn't."_

"_Luka, you didn't – "_

"_I did. I did, Abby, I'm sorry. You could've – I could've lost you and lost the baby and it was my fault. It's my fault." I feel his hand slide under the hem of my shirt and run across my stomach, tracing the scar from the Caesarian. "It's my fault. You weren't supposed to get hurt. I was supposed to be there, Abby." I feel him stiffen and then his whole body convulses as he sobs, clinging to me. "We could've had more. That's how it was supposed to be, I was supposed to marry you, and make babies, perfect babies with you, and now we can't and it's my fault. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Abby."_

_I feel like I've been hit with a wrecking ball and suddenly I'm having trouble catching my breath. "Luka." My voice comes out all hoarse and shaky. "None of it is your fault. Joe and I are okay and I'm happy. I have all of what I need. I promise, okay?"_

_He's still sobbing and he props himself up on his elbows, hovering over me. I can see him trying to focus on me but his eyes are glassy and I think he's probably seeing two or three of me right now. "I shouldn't have waited. I should have married you back then, made it work, make us work, and instead we wasted time. I don't want to waste time, Abby. I want it back, I want to make us be together and take everything back and stop him from hurting you."_

"_Who?"_

"_Him. Brian, Steve, I don't know." Tears are dripping down his nose and onto my face. "I don't know, but I know I loved you and I should have told you. And then you wouldn't have been there. I should have been there, I should have protected you."_

"_Luka." I stroke his hair. "Shh. Just…I'm right here, okay? I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."_

"_You have to promise."_

"_What do I have to promise?"_

_He's still shaking. "You can't though, she couldn't either. You can't promise me I won't lose you."_

"_Lose me? I'm not going – "_

"_If we go there, it's going to take you, too. I'm going to lose you again. I don't want to lose you, Danijela."_

When I've finished telling him, he's frozen in the middle of the road, looking like he's going to start crying again. "I – I called you…"

"Yeah."

He runs his fingers through his hair and just kind of looks around, and then sits down, right there in the street. "God. I – I don't – I wasn't – "

"I know, Luka." I sit down beside him. "I need you to tell me, though, if going back to Vukovar is too much. I mean, if you don't think – if you're doing it for me, so that you can prove something or because you think I want you to – I don't. I want whatever is going to help you, and if it's going to make things worse…"

"I'm terrified, Abby." He looks at me. "I just…I don't know if it's going to make things better. It's been twenty years, and I still…I'm still afraid of going to sleep at night."

"I know." I reach over for his hand. "We have time, though. We can wait until you're ready, or if you – "

He cuts me off. "I need to say goodbye to them. That's…I never did that. When they…there weren't proper graves, then. I just…I tried to do what I could, but there was so much destruction…so many people…it took years before they were...moved. I knew they had been buried again…Danijela's family dealt with it all. They didn't want me there, anyway, but Tata…he tried to convince me to come back, to say goodbye, but…I couldn't do it."

I rest my head on his bicep. "I want you to be able to do that. But if you can't, that's okay."

"It doesn't feel like I can." He squeezes my hand. "But I think I have to try, anyway."

"Then I'll be there. However you need me to be, I'll be there."

"I know you will." He turns his head and I look up at him. "You know I don't…I never once wanted you to be her, right?"

"I know."

"I just – I think maybe that's part of what scares me about going back. Why I maybe called you…I don't think I meant it like that."

"You're not going to lose me." I look at him, and he nods a little.

"That the last time I was there…I did lose…I lost everything. I'm afraid…I know it doesn't make sense, but it's like, if you walk inside there, something changes. It changed _me_." He squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm afraid to bring you there."

"It can't change me, Luka."

He shakes his head. "It still looks like it did, in places. People…Ana's sister, she moved back there, and it's still…people still hate each other. I don't – it poisons you, seeing that."

"Maybe a little poison's okay."

"Abby – "

"You've got to stop trying to protect me. At least from things that aren't there. You can't protect me from the intangible shit that's out there in the world. I know that war is awful, and I don't need to be in it to know that. I've seen _you_. I've seen you have nightmares and I saw what you looked like after the last warzone you wandered off to chewed you up and spit you out. I thought you were _dead_, Luka. You weren't, but for three days, I thought I'd lost somebody I loved so much it scared me to a war he didn't belong in to begin with. I thought I was going to have to hear from Carter that he'd found you with your throat slit and I was going to have to call your family and tell them that."

He just looks at me for a minute, silent, and then a little half-grin creeps over his face. "You loved me?"

Of course that's what he picks up on. "What the hell do you think?"

"I – I didn't think that…that you loved me _then_."

I shrug. "Well, the prospect of never seeing somebody again kind of puts things in perspective."

He bites his lip. "I guess that's one more thing I wish I could change, then."

"What? Me loving you?"

"No. I wish I'd left Gillian in Kisangani."

"I wish you had, too."

He chuckles. "Yeah?"

"I don't know. I guess…maybe it was for the best. I needed time to sort myself out."

"I'd rather have sorted you out myself."

I nudge him gently. "Hey."

"I know."

"Do you…I mean, you said you wish you could change things, and…last night, when you said you wished you could go back…"

"Sometimes." His voice is soft. "I wish I could go back to the night we broke up and take those things back. Apologize. Coming here, it – I start thinking about those things. The things I wish I could go back and fix. There are – God, Abby, there are so many moments where I feel like something could have been different, been better. And I do know that whatever that time did for each of us, when we weren't together, let us…I don't know, grow up, that we needed that…but I wonder sometimes if maybe we'd tried, if I hadn't been such an idiot and come over that night after… I wonder if we could have had that time."

I take his hand. "I'm not going anywhere. We have time now, and we'll…I know I can't promise it, but I'd kind of like to think we've got a lot more than four years in front of us." I trace the outline of the bandages. "I mean, sure, in a couple of years it might be hard, because I'll be old and my hair will be grey and gravity will have its way with me, and you'll wish you had those four years to have sex with somebody who didn't look like the Crypt Keeper – "

He kisses me, and I suspect it's as much because he loves me as because he wants me to shut up. "I'm not worried about that."

"You probably should be. I found a grey hair the other day. It's all downhill from here."

He shakes his head. "Try all you want but you're never going to convince me I won't want you."

I smile a little, and then it falters. "What about…you said we could've had more. Is…do you…"

He takes my hand and pulls it toward him, closing his other one around it. "I don't need another baby. I – I guess sometimes I think about what it might be like, but I swear, I'm not suffering for us not being able to have that. I don't even know that I want that."

"You don't?"

"Whenever I think what it would be like, I think of what it would mean, having less time with you and Joe. I still regret working so much before, when it was Jasna and Marko. I lost so much time with them that I'll never get back. I don't want that for us, for Joe."

"Okay."

"If it was something we both wanted…if we decide that later on…it's not anything I know for sure right now. If you think I'm waiting, hoping for you to say you want that too, I'm not. I love Joe and I would love any child we had, and they would be perfect, but that's not all there is to think about."

I reach my other hand out and run it gently down his arm. "Okay. I just…I wanted to check."

"I'm sorry, Abby. I really am. I think…" He hangs his head for a moment and grimaces. "I can remember now. I did…I did hit him."

"Niko?"

"We were fighting over something, and I think he must have said something about…" He trails off.

"What?"

"He said you weren't Danijela. I remember, he said something about how I couldn't pretend. And I hit him."

"Luka," I murmur.

"He – I think that was what it was. I was yelling at him about how I almost lost you." He looks at me, and he's almost whispering now. "I told him I wasn't there to protect you that day in the ER, and I wasn't there last year when you needed me. And that you shouldn't have forgiven me but you did, because you're better than both of us. And that if he ever said you weren't, I'd kill him."

I lean against him and he wraps his arms around me. I don't even know how to process that – part of me wants to cry for the guilt he feels, part of me wants to cry because he blames himself for my fuck-ups, part of me wants to kiss him for defending me, and a whole lot of me wants to tell him he's the one that's better, that I don't care if he does stupid things now and then because he does so many more things that just make me ache for how much I love him.

I reach up and turn his face toward me, and he gets the hint and leans down so I can kiss him. "You've got to stop doing that," I whisper.

"What?"

"Fighting my fights for me. Literally."

He reaches for my hand and envelops it with his. "I know."

"People are going to think I married into the mob, otherwise."

"How do you know you didn't?"

"Because you're a terrible liar." I glance up at him. "You should probably tell Ana to go easy on Niko, considering."

"What do you mean?"

"She's pissed. Something about how he was supposed to take care of his little brother."

He shakes his head, this little grin on his face. "Sometimes she is a lot like my mother."

"Is Ana in love with Tito, too?" I give him a meaningful look.

"You two talked a little, huh?"

I shrug. "We had some girl talk. Complained about how you and Niko both snore."

"I see." He stands up, and reaches out a hand to me, pulling me up. "My mother married my father because he reminded her of Tito. Niko married Ana because she reminded him of our mother, I think."

"And here, I heard _you_ were the mama's boy."

"I'm not leaving you alone with her anymore."

I slide my arm around him. "Why'd you marry me?"

"Hmm?"

"If your mother married your father because he was like Tito, and Niko married Ana because she was like your mother, why'd you marry me?"

He looks down at me and raises an eyebrow. "Because you're like nobody I've ever met."


	18. Pale Horses

**Disclaimer (Read this...seriously):** Places and events described in this chapter _not_ specific to "ER" or the characters belonging to NBC are based on actual places and historical events. Descriptions and representations of historical events related to the breakup of Yugoslavia and ensuing war in Croatia are based upon the testimony and evidence gathered by the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) and published in documents made available to the public, as well as on scholarly articles and literature published by unbiased experts. Descriptions and representations of places are based on firsthand experience.

That is to say, I didn't make this stuff up, and everything described in this chapter is based on the most reliable information available. There is a lot of misinformation and biased "reporting" available and I have done my best in not only writing this chapter but in my academic career to differentiate. The ICTY is imperfect in many respects, but its information and evidence analysis is unparalleled.

I have done my best to convey information with as much impartiality as possible while keeping in line with the inevitable bias that comes with any firsthand account. This chapter should not be considered a complete picture of the events that occurred in Vukovar in 1991 nor of the war(s) that occurred in the region between 1991 and 1995. It should also not be considered an indictment against any person or party. The history of the Western Balkans/Former Yugoslavia and the conflicts that occurred in the 1990s are extremely complex and the media tends to feed into false understanding. I am not an expert, but I'm working on it, and if anyone has questions or concerns, please send me a private message. If you have some bias that does not respond to logic, I can't help you, but I will gladly hit you with a large book and/or bound ICTY ruling.

Any erroneous information is my own fault. Any information that is not erroneous but is perceived as such by readers is the fault of bias. Any erroneous commas are Essy's fault as the beta. Any injuries resulting from books or bound rulings are not the liability of author or beta.

* * *

><p><strong>"Pale Horses"<strong>

We take the train to Vukovar on New Year's Day. Niko offers to let us borrow his car, but Luka says it's been too long since he was there and he'll end up driving to Hungary by mistake. Which may be true, but I know it's not the reason.

He's afraid he'll turn the car around before we get there.

He's quiet on the way out of Zagreb, just sitting beside me, barely even moving, never letting go of my hand. We're in a little compartment with two other people, a man in a suit, reading the paper, and an older woman who's been asleep since we boarded. I watch out the window, my head resting on Luka's shoulder, as we leave the city and the scenery gets more rural, trees and farmhouses and little cottages, most of which look ancient. It's kind of incredible, how old some of the places here are. Not a lot of ancient fortresses back home.

It's a few hours before the scenery changes again, and even though he warned me what I'd be seeing, it's a shock when I see the first sign – skull and crossbones, just like in the movies. Except it's not a movie. It's an actual minefield. Almost twenty years, and it's still there. I don't even know what to do with it – it's completely foreign. I mean, completely. We practiced duck and cover in school, but it wasn't as though it was a tangible threat. Even if something had happened, it wasn't going to be in St. Louis. It was no different than a fire drill for us. More fun than grammar and social studies, at least.

And here is this place where my husband grew up, where he came from, and there are fields you can't walk through because you might not make it out alive. I imagine what that would be like, trying to explain to Joe that he can't walk here or there because of the mines. Or at least, I try to imagine. It doesn't really materialize. I'm sort of glad Joe is back in Zagreb with his cousins.

When we start passing by houses with half-missing roofs and bullet holes in the walls, his grip on my hand gets tighter. "Abby?"

"Want to switch seats?" I try to say it like I'm asking for myself, so I can see out the window, and not because I know he doesn't want to look at it. I don't think my performance is all that convincing, but he nods and stands awkwardly. As I move around him, he holds onto my hand, and maybe I hadn't noticed before because it was a gradual thing, but I realize from the color of my fingers just how hard he's gripping it.

"Here." I reach out my other hand, now that we've switched sides, and he runs his thumb over my wedding band, and then over the new ring, and gives me a weak smile.

"Thanks."

I nod. "You can close your eyes if you want. Take a nap."

"I don't think I can sleep," he murmurs. He glances across the aisle and then back at me. "Lousy day to quit smoking, hmm?"

"I may not have thought that one through all the way."

"We can always start the New Year when we get home."

"Or…you know…in June or something."

He rests his head on mine. "I don't think I'm going to be much help if you decide you want one. If you go down, I'll probably go down along with you."

I squeeze his hand. "Right back at you."

* * *

><p>I don't ask where we're going. I have no idea if he has any kind of agenda for what we'll do while we're here, or if he's making it up as we go. Probably a combination.<p>

I'm really just trying to feel my way along, here.

The hospital is clean and white and so completely different from any hospital I've ever seen that I don't realize it's actually a hospital until we're inside. Luka's still holding my hand and I can feel the tension radiating from him and I don't know if he realizes it but the diamond from my ring must be digging into his palm. Or maybe he does realize it, and that's why he's gripping my hand so hard. To dull whatever he must be feeling, seeing this place again.

It's obviously been renovated and he's a little hesitant, but we follow the signs – or he does, really – to the surgical floor. He says something to the woman at the nurse's station, and she nods and picks up the phone.

I look up at him. "What's going on?"

"Someone I used to work with. I wasn't sure if she still was here."

"Oh." I don't ask why he didn't call ahead of time.

His grip relaxes as a woman comes down the hallway, breaking into a smile when she spots Luka. As she reaches up to hug him and he releases my hand, it occurs to me that I've seen her somewhere.

She and Luka are talking in Croatian and she turns to me and says something I can't understand. I open my mouth to apologize when she gasps. "I've met you!" She frowns and waves a hand at Luka. "No, I know where. Chicago! You worked with Luka in the hospital."

It clicks in my mind, the little boy Luka was trying to help. "Yes. I – "

"Gordana, this is my wife, Abby." He's smiling for the first time since we got here.

"Your wife?" Her eyes widen and she looks back and forth between us. "You got married?"

"Don't sound so surprised." He's still smiling. "You make it sound like I was a lost cause."

"Well, you were." She crosses her arms and her face softens. "I never thought I would see the day you came back here."

"Neither did I," Luka says quietly. I feel him take my hand again. "It was…time. I needed to…you know."

She nods. "I know. How long will you be here?"

"Only a day. We take the train back tomorrow afternoon."

I nudge him. "Show her."

"Hmm?"

"Your wallet."

It takes him a second. "Oh." He ducks his head a little. "_Oh. _Right." He takes a picture of Joe from his wallet and hands it to Gordana.

She looks at it with her mouth open a little bit, like she's stunned. But I guess I remember enough of what she said when we met that time in Chicago to know why – he was different before the war, and she could see that he'd changed – that he was haunted, sad. And now I guess seeing him here with me and finding out he's a father again is another shock.

"His name is Joe," I offer.

"He's beautiful." She looks at me for a long moment. "I'm so glad for you, Luka. For both of you."

We talk awhile longer and she says she'll take us to the train station tomorrow if we'd like. Luka tells her it's not necessary and she just laughs and tells him to shut up and stop acting so polite because she's known him long enough to know he's not. It's sort of fascinating, seeing how they are together, and she doesn't tiptoe around what we're here for or pretend he doesn't have a whole history that most of the people I've met from his past don't ever mention. It's like she's absolutely certain that he's still in there, the guy who used to pull pranks and laugh so loudly everyone in the building knew it. And I kind of have to think that it's nice to know that there are people who believe he's capable of moving past what happened.

Luka excuses himself to use the restroom before we leave, and Gordana glances at me warily. "Would you like to see it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The basement. He must have told you about it."

"Oh." I chew the inside of my lip. "He's told me…I mean, yes, he told me about being down there. You were there with him?"

She nods. "He won't want to see it, but if you'd like…they've kept it as a museum. I can show you."

I don't want to see it. Not in a million years. And I know that I have to, because I'm realizing that being here isn't just about him, it's about me, too. About me being able to understand it and understand what he went through because coming here isn't going to fix everything. I think it might actually make things worse for a while, but either way, I have to know, because it's like with my alcoholism, how he's stopped drinking – he's living it with me. Even if it's not the same, it's still a sacrifice on his part. I'm just now getting that. It's why he felt so bad about going out with Niko and getting drunk, not because it bothers me to see him drink, but because he wants to give something up so he'll feel a little of what I feel.

And now it's my turn to do that for him.

"He won't want me to go. I'll…when he gets back, I'll talk to him."

Gordana nods, and smiles a little bit. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Most people would say no. You didn't."

I don't say anything. When Luka comes back, I pull him aside.

"She offered to take me down to the basement. I'm going to – "

"Abby – "

"This one's not your call." I look straight at him, at his eyes, and I can see him pleading with me. "It can't hurt me, Luka. It's just a room."

"You don't have to," he whispers.

I hold up my left hand. "Package deal, remember? There are a lot of things I don't have to do. I'm going to do this anyway."

* * *

><p>It's not as bad as I thought it would be.<p>

It's a hundred times worse.

The lighting is eerie and there is a winding series of tiny rooms, almost like caves, with medical equipment set up and white plaster figures that are supposed to represent people but look like ghosts. And one of them is my husband. I feel like I'm suffocating.

I don't realize I'm shaking until Gordana takes my arm. "I hate it," she tells me. "All it shows is death."

"I don't understand." I'm whispering, like there's someone to disturb.

It feels like there is. Like the place is haunted.

"All people remember are the ones who died. It was awful, the death, but the ones who lived…we should know about them. Not be sad and angry for the rest of our own lives."

"How do you do it? Work here?" We reach the end. I've been down here ten minutes and it feels like the walls are closing in. I can't imagine being down here for months.

She nods slowly. "It seems strange, I know. But it's what I need to do. Luka needed to leave, I needed to stay. To honor my friends. They died trying to help people. I lived. So I try to help people. It would feel like a waste, otherwise, to have lived."

We walk out onto the street and I exhale. I don't even know how long I was holding my breath. "I can't even imagine."

"That's good. It's idiotic to imagine war, of all things."

"I guess."

"It's brave, sometimes – like you, you want to know for Luka's sake, right?"

"Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't need to. There's only one reason you'd go down there, unless you were an idiot. And I don't think you're an idiot."

I force a laugh. "Sometimes I'm not so sure."

"Well, anybody is an idiot when they look at Luka, but that's different. The point is…there is no point to imagining things that are unimaginable."

* * *

><p>He's quiet as we walk away from the hospital, down empty streets. I don't know if he's angry that I went down there. I'm having a hell of a time knowing what he's thinking now that we're here. It's like whatever radar I usually have for understanding him is completely useless here.<p>

"Luka?"

"Yeah."

"I – stop." I grab his arm. "I know this is hard for you. I don't want to make it harder, but I…god, don't be angry with me for trying to understand you. Please. I just – I don't know what I'm supposed to do, but I feel like maybe if I see some of this, I can…I don't know. Share whatever you're feeling, understand, so you don't have to be in your head with this stuff by yourself."

He's still for a minute, not saying anything, not looking at me. Then he pulls me toward him and I feel his arms around me, tight. "I'm not angry."

"Okay."

"I'm scared out of my mind, Abby. I want to get the fuck out of here and I know I have to do this."

I look up at him. "Do what?" That's what I've been trying to figure out this whole time, and I think it's time to let go of the idea that I can just follow him. I'm getting the sense that maybe he doesn't know where he's going either.

"This." He lets go of me and runs a hand over his face. "This, being here, going back to these places. I need to…it's like a burn. You have to expose it, clear the dead skin off so you can clean the wound. If you cover it over…that's all I've done. I covered it over. And so it's going to keep infecting me, and us, for the rest of our lives, and I don't want that."

"Luka." I reach for his hand again and he takes it and kisses my fingers. "It's not a burn."

"I didn't – "

"You had a flashback. That night on the train, that's what it was, right?" He doesn't say anything. "You went through probably the most awful thing anybody could ever go through. Twice, because I know what you were doing when you went to the Congo. Don't tell me you weren't because I know you, and I know how miserable you were before that and I know the way you were looking at me when you left."

"Abby, I – "

"I didn't come here to watch you torture yourself. If you think the way to do this is by subjecting yourself to every awful memory at once, you're…I don't even know, but it's not anything you'd let me do to myself if this was reversed. Is it?"

"Abby – "

"_Is it_?"

He looks at me for a long moment. "No."

"Then don't make me watch you do it. It's not going to change what happened or make it any easier to have watched them die like that."

I don't think I've ever said it, straight out like that, until now. Used the word. But it feels like it's useless to couch it in vague terms when we're here, in the middle of this town, and there are piles of rubble and bare frames of houses around us.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing." His voice is low. "I had this idea like I'd feel…I'd know what to do here. I – I've been trying to find a way to make it less…to separate it…for years. And I can, until I can't. I don't…I don't know."

"And you've been telling me I don't give myself credit. You've done a lot, Luka. You've talked about it. You've faced this stuff. You're facing it now. Your metaphor, about a burn? You don't debride the wound with a Brillo pad."

He sighs, and then shrugs. "So then what am I doing here?"

"You said yourself you wanted to say goodbye."

"I did. I do. I just…"

"Maybe that's enough."

He looks at me for a long time. At least, it feels like a long time. I can't be sure. "Maybe not."

"I don't understand."

"I…there are parts of what happened that…I didn't tell you. Or…anybody. Except for Gordana, but I didn't…" He trails off.

"She was there with you."

He nods. "Maybe…I think maybe I need to…tell you."

I hug my arms around myself. "You can. All of it, you can tell me."

"It's cold."

"I know."

"I think I'd like to go to their graves in the morning. For now, could we maybe just…talk?"

"Yeah." I slide an arm around his waist. "Come on."

* * *

><p>"Should we maybe stop and get some sandwiches or something?" I'm shivering and as much as I want to go straight back to the hotel, I'm not sure how much either of us will want to go out later to get dinner. And I don't really want to go back out in the cold once I'm inside.<p>

Luka shrugs. "Sure."

"I think that's a deli or something across the street." I nod toward it. "Unless hanging meat in the window is one of those Croatian New Year's traditions I don't know about."

He glances at it. "No."

"No, what? It's not a deli, or it's not a tradition?"

"No, we can't go there. There's a store by the hotel; we can go there." His fingers tighten around my palm.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. We'll go to the next one."

"Luka."

He sighs and points across the street. "You see that? By the door?"

"The sign? What does it say?"

"It doesn't matter what it says. It's Cyrillic."

"So?"

"It's a way of saying 'fuck off if you're Croatian' without having to say it."

I look at him in disbelief. "How…?"

"Like I said, the town is still divided. You don't stop hating people just because you've stopped killing them."

"I don't…you said before the war…"

He doesn't look at me. "It was different before. It was still there, on both sides, but…you didn't teach it to your children. Most people didn't, anyway. It was latent, it had to be, so people started to forget. When you don't talk about it, it doesn't exist."

"Sounds very Catholic."

He snorts softly. "It was Yugoslav. Brotherhood and unity and shut up about the rest. Except when a few people stopped shutting up, everybody remembered."

"Not everybody." I squeeze his hand.

He disentangles his hand from mine. "I'm not as forgiving as you think I am."

"I didn't say you were forgiving."

"Then what is it you think I am? A saint? Too pure of soul to hate anyone? Because you're wrong, Abby. I wish I was that, I wish I could be that for you and for Joe and I wish I had been that for Danijela and Jasna and Marko. But I'm not. I'm no better than anyone here, or than the person who put a mortar through my apartment and killed my wife and children. You know that, even if you don't want to let yourself believe it." He's walking so fast now that I'm almost running to keep up. "I killed a man right in front of you. You saw it, you saw me crack his head open on the pavement, Abby. I threatened to kill Curtis Ames if he came after you, and when he did, all I could think was how much I wished I'd killed him when I had the chance."

"Hey." I grab for his arm, but he shakes me off. "Luka." He keeps walking, and now I am running, and I yell this time. "Luka!"

He stops. His voice is low. "What?"

"I…" I swallow, and realize we're in front of the hotel now. "Let's just go inside. Talk. Don't – don't try to do that, to scare me off, because it's not going to work. I don't care how much you hate yourself, you're not going to make me hate you, too."

He just sighs. "This was a bad idea."

"No, it wasn't. You're not getting rid of me that easy. We're going to talk, like you said, about the stuff that you don't want to tell me. That's what we're doing here. And I don't care if you tell me you're the Unabomber and that you masterminded the fall of the Roman Empire, I'm still going to be your wife. And you're still going to owe me a trip to Hawaii. I'm in this, better or worse, okay?"

His gaze softens. "Okay."

"Okay," I repeat. "Let's go inside. It's freezing out here."

"Go upstairs and warm up. I'll get us something to eat."

"Luka – "

He smiles a little and touches my arm. "I'm not trying to get rid of you. You're shivering. And I could use a minute to clear my head."

I tilt my head to one side and look up at him. "You're sure?"

"That I'm not getting rid of you?" He kisses my forehead. "Yes. I'm sure."

* * *

><p>I don't hear him come in. My fingers have almost stopped burning under the hot water when I hear the bathroom door open. "Luka?"<p>

"Yeah." He doesn't say anything else but I can hear him kicking off his shoes and the sound of a belt buckle hitting tile. He slides the shower door open and just looks at me a minute, and suddenly I'm shivering again.

I reach out and he steps in and we stand there under the hot water, his arms around me, until his skin is warm against mine and then he pushes the wet hair off my forehead and kisses me. I'm not expecting it when he steers me toward the wall and my foot starts to slip.

He doesn't so much catch me as use it as an opportunity to pick me up and there's a sort of automatic response over which I have no control – not that I'd want any – and I wrap my arms and legs around him as he presses me against the wall. For a second I contemplate asking him if he's sure, because I'm still not clear on what the boundaries are here, but he kisses me again and I feel his fingers on my back and hip and he's pressed against me so that I can feel his heartbeat and I don't really need to ask. It's not an escape, or about trying to purge his past, or anything besides him wanting me. And god knows I want him back.

His eyes are on me the whole time and I look right back at him until I can't because water is dripping from his hair and rolling down my forehead and into my eyes. There's something I can't quite explain about it, making love with him like this, and I think maybe knowing that he's here, in this moment, with me, even in this place – it's overwhelming. Knowing that whatever trauma still affects him, he's not married to anyone but me. The way he murmurs my name when he comes sends little chills through me and he repeats it until I've climaxed as well.

After, he just holds me, letting his weight rest against me until the water starts to get cold. When he finally sets me down and steps out he's still looking at me and I shrug. "What?"

He wraps a towel around me. "Nothing. Just – thank you. For being here."

"You're welcome."

"And also…your hair is…well…"

I look in the mirror. "Oh."

"But that wasn't what I was looking at."

"Liar. You interrupted me while I was washing my hair." I try to comb through it with my fingers.

"Don't let me stop you." He nods to the shower. "I'll wait."

"Nope." I take my brush from the counter. "No more waiting."

I slip on a pair of sweatpants and a sweater and sit on the bed, trying to brush the knots out of my hair as he unwraps the sandwiches. We're both quiet as we eat but he sits close enough to touch me and I kind of think not talking is a good sign. At least he's not trying to distract me, talking about Joe or work or something.

When we've finished, I shift on the bed so I'm cross-legged, facing the edge. "Here. Turn around."

"Why?"

"So I can rub your shoulders."

He turns to face away from me and pulls his sweatshirt over his head. "Thanks."

"You can make it up to me later." I scoot closer and slide my hands under his tee shirt. "You need a blanket?"

"I'm okay."

He doesn't say anything for a while, and I don't try to make him. His breathing evens out as I try to work the tension out of his shoulders, as gently as I can, and my forehead is resting against his spine. I can feel the vibration of his chest when he starts to talk.

"How did you know? When I went to the Congo, I mean, you said the way I was looking at you…I didn't even really know until after I'd gotten back…when I saw you again."

"I don't know." I press my lips against the nape of his neck for a minute and then draw back. "I think maybe because I'd seen Maggie look at me like that. And probably Eddie right before he left, not that I can really remember. I just…I could feel that it wasn't…that you were sad. Not like you'd miss me while you were gone, just like…you were trying to say goodbye to me without having to let me know."

He reaches up and takes one of my hands. "I wasn't sure. I mean, I didn't…I knew, I guess, but not really consciously."

"I was so mad at you. After Chuny told me, I mean, after the shock started to wear off…I was so angry at you for not telling me."

"What would I have said?"

"The truth. That you didn't know if you'd see me again. Why you were going. Even if you didn't really get it, consciously, you knew you were going someplace dangerous and that you were walking into it like you were walking into traffic blindfolded. I don't know, Luka. I'm not mad at you now. I just…don't think I didn't understand that you were trying to offer yourself up as sacrifice."

"I wasn't."

"You were. You did."

"I wasn't, Abby. I wasn't planning to get sick or get captured or get killed – "

"But you weren't planning to try to avoid it."

He's quiet for a few moments and I press the pads of my fingers against his shoulder blades and trace the outline with my thumbs. "No." He sighs. "I wasn't."

"You could've written me a letter, you know. I'd have enjoyed getting some mail from there that didn't end with 'I hope we can still be friends.'"

"I really…I wasn't conscious of it until later."

"When you saw me again."

"When I saw you again. I was…surprised, almost. And relieved."

I take my hands out from under his shirt and drape them around his shoulders. I feel him grasp my arm and I raise myself up on my knees a little and lean over him so that I can kiss him. "I know I said I needed the time…but I wish…I think I felt it, too. Not relieved, but…I mean, I was, but I think maybe…"

"I know." I kiss his cheek and settle back behind him. He's quiet again for a while, and so am I. When he starts talking again, his voice is lower. Soft, and I can feel his muscles tense up again. "After they died – I told you how I went to the hospital. That Ana's sister – Marija – was there."

"Mm-hmm."

"It was – there were a lot of people there. Hundreds. A lot of them were hurt in the shelling, some of them didn't have anywhere else to go. There were people hurt fighting there, too. They – the defenders, they called them. They'd bring them to the hospital when they were hurt. They were young, a lot of them. Younger than I was."

I have this image of Luka, back then, twenty-six years old and trying to come to terms with his daughter dying in his arms and his wife and son gone, in the middle of all that. I was still just trying to figure out what I wanted to do with myself at that point, besides drinking until I was numb and watching my marriage crumble and doing nothing to stop it. I wish I could go back and just hold him, because I can't imagine how terrifying it must have been and how he didn't have anyone to do that. To hold him at night and let him cry for what he'd lost. I brush my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Right before the siege stopped, they had made some kind of agreement to evacuate the sick and injured people. I don't – I don't know if it was part of the surrender or what, they were just supposed to – the Red Cross was supposed to come and evacuate them. I don't really know what happened, why it took a few days for the Red Cross to get there. I never tried to find out. And then soldiers from the Yugoslav army, commanders I think, came to meet with us and said we could stay at the hospital to work or be evacuated. I said I'd stay, to help. Marija…she had Iva and the baby, and she…she asked me to leave with them, but I – I couldn't. Leave there, I mean, with them, after all the times Dani had asked me to leave with her and the children.

"They, uh…they divided the men from the women, all the ones who could walk, and I thought…we thought…I don't know. That it was just how they arranged it. Policy or something. We tried to help as many of them as we could onto the buses, splinted broken bones, that kind of thing. Even the ones who were badly hurt, we thought…the sooner they were evacuated, the better, in case the Red Cross wouldn't get there for a few days. But I said I'd go with them, in case they needed a doctor. And I thought…I'd rather leave that way than…than however else.

"After we stopped, somebody came onto the bus and asked if any of us worked at the hospital. They told me to go to another bus, and I thought maybe there was someone sick. When I got off, they…uh…there were soldiers and some paramilitary who…they hit me a few times. After I got on the other bus, they…you know, they kept…"

I wrap my arms around his waist and he twists so that he's partly facing me and rests his cheek on top of my head. "They brought us back, maybe a dozen of us I think. To the hospital. Gordana came to take me off the bus and she saw…I must've been bleeding or something. She made me get on another bus with Marija to leave. I…I didn't know. She…Gordana…I think she realized after I'd left on the first bus where we were going. The Red Cross had come right after we left. I think she knew…she told somebody I was on the bus."

"I don't understand." I reach up and run my fingers through his hair.

His voice wavers a little. "That's the thing. The buses, the ones that left…all of them…we didn't know until later. When they found them. And…I'd put them on the bus. Helped them inside, even the ones who were hurt badly. I put them on there."

"Luka." I tighten my arms around him. "It wasn't your fault."

"And I – I was supposed to be with them. I should have been. Like I should have been at home with Danijela and the kids."

"No. You weren't. You weren't supposed to die there, Luka." I touch his cheek. "Look at me." He does, and I can see tears in his eyes. I don't think I've ever quite understood until now how much guilt he feels for what happened. Not just that he couldn't save his wife and kids, but that he survived when so many other people didn't. "Forget about all the other people you've helped. Even though you have, you've saved a lot of people's lives who…" I shake my head. "Just forget that for a second. Just…just look at me and tell me you think I'd have been better off if you'd died. That it would be better if you'd died there, or in Kisangani, and Joe didn't exist."

"I don't know." He rests his head on mine again. "I don't know, Abby. I – any baby you had…whoever it was with…"

"I'm not talking about any baby. I'm talking about Joe. There wouldn't be a Joe. There wouldn't be any baby, because I'd never have had one with anybody else." I lean my head back and look at him. "You're the one that said that everything happens for a reason, that you were running to me…maybe that's why you're here. You couldn't have changed what happened, Luka. But maybe…maybe you're here because you're supposed to be. Whether it's God or karma or string theory, I don't know, I just…maybe some of it's random, but maybe some things do happen for a reason."

He brushes his fingers across my cheek and reaches down with the other hand to rest on my hip. "It doesn't seem fair."

"It's not." I move back toward the center of the bed and he moves with me, leaning against the pillows. I rest my head on his chest. "I can't explain why you're here or why Joe gets to grow up and…they don't. I – if I could give you anything, it would be that. To watch all of your children grow up. I hate that you don't. I hate that if you hadn't gone through the things you did, I wouldn't be your wife."

"But you are."

I lift my head up to look at him. "I am. I don't know why. But I'm glad I am."

He pulls me toward him and kisses me, and when I pull back, I can see tears rolling down his face and I can feel myself crying a little bit, too. "I'm glad you are, too."

"Promise me you'll stop punishing yourself. That you'll try. Because whatever penance you think you owe, you've done enough good things to clear your debt."

"What do you mean?"

"Promise me you won't go back. To the Congo, or to Darfur. That you're done playing Russian roulette."

He brushes his thumb over my lips. "I promise, Abby."

* * *

><p>Gordana picks us up from the hotel the next morning to drive us to the graveyard. It occurs to me that I'm not the only one who's never been there before. I guess I knew, rationally, but the realization is still a little jarring, that Luka has never seen their graves. I slip my hand between the door and his seat as we drive and he brushes his fingers against mine, tracing them with his, before taking it.<p>

"I'll meet you here whenever you are ready," Gordana tells us. She smiles and nods to Luka. "I thought I'd visit another old friend while we're here."

It takes us a little while to find them. Some of the graves are old and cracked and look like no one's been there in centuries, and others are clean and covered with flowers and rosaries. I stop reading the dates after a while. An awful lot of them end with 1991, and I can't stop myself from doing the math, how old they were when they died. I want to cry at how many of them were children.

"Here." His voice is shaky and he crouches down in front of one of the clean, almost white ones, two smaller ones beside it.

"Who put the flowers there?" I kneel down beside him.

"I don't know. Marija, maybe. Her husband is buried here." He runs a hand over the stone. "Danijela's mother still lives nearby, I think. I don't know about her brothers."

I don't say anything. I count the dates, instead. It's surreal, sitting here, knowing their birthdays and the date they died and all these little things about them – Jasna's favorite color, the name of Marko's stuffed bear – and it's the first time I've really let it sink in, that even though this is the closest I'll ever be to meeting them, they're still technically my stepchildren. That when I told Luka I loved them even though I'd never met them, it was true, and there's a sort of shock at realizing that it extends to missing them. I don't know how that's even possible, because it doesn't make the slightest bit of sense, but it's there, this feeling like I've lost something, the chance to know them, the chance to see them with Joe. The chance to see Luka with them.

"I can give you some time if you want." I start to get up, but Luka doesn't let go of my hand.

"Wait." He looks up at me. "Would you – " He doesn't finish.

I nod and kneel beside him. "Here." I reach into my pocket.

"I – " He looks at my hand and picks up the crucifix, just letting it swing in front of him for a moment like he's hypnotized. "How did…why did you…"

"I thought you might want it. If you don't, it's okay, it was just – "

"No. I do. It's…thank you." I watch the light glinting off of the chain as he wraps it around his hand and holds the cross in his fingers. "Would you pray with me?"

"Of course."


	19. This Is the New Year

**"This Is the New Year"**

We fly home on Saturday. As much as I'm looking forward to sleeping in a bed that's actually meant for two adults and having a bathroom that I'm not sharing with six other people, I'm a little sad to be leaving. It's a completely different experience than last time, being here with Luka and Joe and not being too preoccupied with sobriety and our marriage to notice how beautiful it is and how comfortable Luka is, surrounded by people who speak the same language and have the same history. And it's nice to realize that he's not conflicted about leaving, that the place we're going back to is home, for both of us.

As we're leaving, Ana tells me to keep in touch, and I tell her I will and actually mean it. It's funny, sort of, to realize that having somebody to talk to who knows Luka and knows what it's like being married to someone who's a lot like him – it's a relief. I don't really expect to call her regularly to gossip, but given that I'm married to her brother-in-law and just completely, ridiculously in love with him, I figure we have time to get to know each other.

Stipe is as ambivalent toward me as ever, not that I take it personally since he's a nine-year-old boy and all, but he gives Joe a hug and then looks at me very seriously and tells me to make sure Joe practices kicking the soccer ball and that he watches as many Dinamo matches as possible. I promise him that I will, and then Nata hugs me so hard I can barely breathe and asks if she can come visit Boston soon. "Um…" I glance at Ana, who shrugs. "Why don't we wait a little while to make any plans, okay?"

Niko drives us to the airport, and when Luka goes inside to check our luggage, he clears his throat kind of awkwardly at glances at me. I steel myself and hold out my hand. "It was nice seeing you again, Niko."

He doesn't take my hand. "Listen, Abby, I – "

"I have a really long flight ahead of me, can we just please not do this now?" I unhook Joe from his carseat.

"No, I…I want to…apologize to you for how I have been acting." He doesn't look me in the eye. "Luka, he is…his heart is sometimes confusing him, I think. He has wanted for a long time to find the thing he had before. I think perhaps he wants too much to have it, and…I don't know word. He makes himself to think that he has found it. I worry he is doing this with you."

"He's not."

"I understand now. You care for him very much, I see it when you go to Vukovar. It cannot have been easy choice. And I see he trusts you to go with him. He would not trust you if it was not right, do you understand what I mean?"

"I think so."

"Good. What I am saying is, I am scared to lose my brother again, and so I try to protect him. But I think I try to protect him from wrong thing. You are…you are good to him. Good _for_ him."

I bite my lip. "Thank you. I know – I know I hurt him before. And it kills me, because he's a good man, and even if there were other problems, he didn't deserve that. He was – you know the term 'collateral damage'?"

"Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, yes?"

I have to stop myself from laughing. "Yes, but also, it means, like…the things that are damaged because of another action. Not on purpose. For me, I was hurting myself, and he got hurt because of it."

"I see. I think Ana is familiar with concept. I am not always perfect husband."

I smile a little. "I care about Luka…more than I can explain. And I want him to be happy."

Niko nods. "I want him to be happy also. I think you make him this."

He reaches out and gives me a hug, and I'm sort of shocked into immobility for a minute, and as I go to hug him back, I see Luka, staring at us with his mouth hanging open. Which, I have to say, is pretty priceless.

"See?" Luka whispers to me, later, as we're walking through the airport. "I told you."

"I know, I know." I smile up at him. "I'm extraordinary."

* * *

><p>We land just after midnight on Saturday – or Sunday morning, I guess – and I'm pretty glad we thought to take a private car back, because from the way I feel and the way Luka looks, neither of us are in any shape to drive home. As soon as we're inside, it's like that scene in "The Wizard of Oz," with the poppies – we all just sort of collapse in a pile on the bed. I don't know who goes around removing shoes and adding blankets, since that's within both Joe's skill set and my talent at sleep-multi-tasking, but I decide I like them a lot.<p>

The rest of the day is basically any Sunday, just on steroids – more laundry, more groceries, less cooperative Joe when naptime rolls around. By dinner time, though, I think I've got the hang of it, enough that there's at least a fifty-fifty chance I'll survive work tomorrow.

Of course, I forget to factor in Joe's internal clock, which is still very much on Zagreb time. And he's not too forgiving of those of us who have adjusted back to this time zone.

By the time I get home from work, I feel like the walking dead and proceed to drop all of my things by the front door, drag myself into the kitchen, and prop myself against Luka. "You're going to have to hold me up. I don't think I have the energy to do it myself."

He grunts softly. "I don't either. Ask your son. He seems to have enough for both of us."

"Great." I sink onto the sofa in Joe's play area, which migrated from the living room when we set up the Christmas tree. "Joe, how about tonight, you can put me and Tata to bed, and then make us all lunch for tomorrow and start the dishwasher? How does that sound?"

He looks up from a couple of plastic dinosaurs. "How?"

"Hmm? How what?"

He climbs up beside me. "How do I do it?"

"Which part? How do you do the dishwasher?"

"No. That's silly. Tata does it."

I glance at Luka, who just shrugs. "Okay, then what do you want to know how to do? How to make lunch?"

"No. You make lunch. And you put the chips in it."

"I see."

"I need to know, how do I put you into your bed?" He hands me a dinosaur.

"Oh, well that's easy."

"It is easy?"

"Yeah." He takes the dinosaur back from me and gives me a smaller one. I don't argue. I've learned that I'm just supposed to go along with dinosaur time and not ask questions. "To put Tata to bed, you just put me to bed. He always goes to bed when I do."

"How do I put you to bed?"

"Well, I always go to bed after you. So to put me to bed, you go to bed."

He frowns. "But I need to eat my dinner first."

"Okay, well, after dinner, how about Tata starts the dishwasher, and I can help you take your bath, and then I can make lunch – "

"With chips."

"Right. With chips, while Tata reads you a story. And then you can put us to bed."

"I put you to bed and I go to my bed?" He hands me another dinosaur, along with a bunch of plastic grapes.

"That's right."

"Okay. I will put you and Tata to bed."

I look over at Luka and grin a little. I mean, hey, it's not like I think I can get away with it more than once or twice, but for how tired I am, I'm pretty pleased with myself. Outsmarting a two-year-old when it comes to bedtime is not exactly easy.

As we stretch out in bed that night, nice and early, Luka wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead. "I knew I married you for all the right reasons."

"My quick wit and ability to con toddlers?"

"Well, that, and your body, of course."

"See, and I was just going to say the same about you."

"Glad we're on the same page."

"Mmhmm."

"Just so I know…you've never tricked _me_ to get me into bed, right?"

"Nope." I turn over in his arms and yawn. "Never needed to."

* * *

><p>I'm woken up the following Saturday to Stevie Wonder's "Happy Birthday." I put up what I think is a pretty impressive struggle, but eventually, the lure of coffee and cinnamon buns and presents wins out, and I follow Luka and Joe downstairs under the condition that I still get to be thirty-nine until tonight.<p>

I refuse to turn forty until I absolutely have to.

"Close your eyes," Luka tells me once we're downstairs, and sort of prods me along with one hand over my eyes until I feel cold tile under my feet and I know we're in the kitchen.

I step back onto the carpet. "I said no surprises. Actually, I said no birthday, but since you've ignored that – "

I feel his mouth next to my ear. "What have you always wanted but wouldn't buy yourself?"

"I don't know, a time machine so I can go back and explain to you what 'no surprises' means?"

"Come on. You'll like it, I promise. Take a guess."

"Fine. A koala bear."

"I want a 'walla bear." Joe announces. I feel him grab my hand.

"Abby…"

"Okay, okay. Something I always wanted. Stevie Wonder tickets."

"Not on tour."

I have to smile at that. "I see. Okay…a Mercedes?"

"Something that fits in the kitchen."

"All of those things _could_ fit in the kitchen."

"It can fit on the counter."

"A koala could fi – wait. On the counter?"

"Mmhmm."

"Like…next to the coffee maker?"

"Or the toaster. You can decide."

I turn around and reach up to kiss him. "You know I love you, even if you don't follow directions very well, right?"

"Mmhmm."

I've got to give it to him – I didn't think he'd be able to come up with any present that would put me in anything approximating a good mood today, but I _have_ always wanted an espresso maker. And it's a nice one, to boot. Not ridiculous or anything, but definitely one of those things you'd need two attending physician salaries to afford.

I try not to think about how much it did cost. I mean, sure, I'm making pretty good money now, and he is too, and he had some savings already, but we've still got a mortgage and a kid, and we haven't really talked about it, but I think since we've got all these private schools right here, and we have the means, we might want to take advantage of it. And then there'll be college, of course, which I'd like to be able to pay for. Not to mention more trips to and from Croatia, and even though we've got good health insurance, we'll probably want to factor that in as we get older. And I'm not sure how much longer my car is going to last, come to think of it.

I don't realize I've spaced out until Luka nudges me. "Breakfast is ready. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You don't like it?" He glances at the espresso maker. "We can exchange it if you want."

"No, it's not that." I help Joe into his booster seat. "It's just…we've spent a lot of money, between the house and Christmas and the trip, and I love the present, it's just…a lot."

Luka smiles a little. "It's not that much. Really. And we can afford it." He places a cinnamon bun on my plate.

"Can we, though? I mean, I know we've got the two attending incomes, but we've got Joe and the house, too. And this, plus, I mean, the ring…" I bite my lip. "I love it, I do, I'm just…worried."

He sits down. "I wouldn't have bought it if I didn't think we could afford it. I know we've got Joe, and the house, and we have to budget for trips…and for your chocolate."

"We've been home a week and you've eaten half of it. I've barely touched it."

"I was feeling very homesick for Croatia. The chocolate was therapeutic."

I eye him. "Right."

He smiles and gives a little shrug. "I know all of that. I know we'll have things to pay for in the future. But…I don't know, I don't plan on buying you a diamond ring every year."

"I hope not. I don't have that many fingers."

"I just…this year was…special. And if you want to go meet with one of those finance people together, we should. Today, can we just not worry, though?"

"I can't promise no worrying. I do have to worry about filing for social security and choosing a good retirement home, now."

"Hey, I'm older than you, you know."

I shrug and take a bite of my cinnamon bun. "Men age more gracefully. It's different."

"We do?"

"Sure. Forty is the hottest age for men. I mean, statistically speaking. Personally, I liked you best at forty-one."

"I am two," Joe interjects. He holds up two fingers. "This many."

"Joe, how old is Mama today?"

I narrow my eyes at Luka. "You're about to lose all the credit you earned for that espresso maker."

"How old is Mama?" Luka repeats.

Joe considers. "Mama is not old."

Luka looks at me with a grin. "See? Nothing to worry about. Here. Open your other present."

"I thought you said – "

He cuts me off. "It's from Joe."

"It's my present." Joe looks at me seriously. "Mine."

"I see."

"Mine," Joe repeats.

Luka sighs a little as he hands me the box. "I tried to explain. It didn't work very well."

"It's okay. Hey Joe, how about you help me open the present, since it's from you, and then we can see what it is. And then you can ask nicely if you can share it with me, okay?"

He studies me, and I can see him struggling with the idea of not having it completely to himself. After a minute, he nods. "Okay. I will ask nicely to share my present."

I let him sit in my lap and help unwrap the gift – meaning I hold it there and he tears all the paper off – and then he looks up at me. "It is a book."

"No, no, not a book," Luka tells him. "Remember what I said? Why it was from you?"

Joe ignores him and starts trying to flip through the pages. "It has no pictures."

"I think we put the pictures in ourselves." I kiss the top of his head. "It's a book to put photos inside."

"Pictures of us," Luka adds. "So there will be a place for all the pictures of you, and me, and Mama."

"Thank you," I whisper to Luka.

He shrugs a little, almost like he's shy about it. It's really kind of adorable when he does that. "I thought maybe it was time we had one."

"You will read the book to me later." Joe looks up at me. It's less a question and more a command.

"Well…we can look at the pictures together, once we've put them in."

"At my bedtime. I want to read the book in my bed with you."

Luka nudges me. "I guess we know what we're doing today, huh?"

I brush my fingers through Joe's hair. "Okay. Tonight. We'll read it then."

"Yes." He squirms off my lap. "Now I am going to play with dinosaurs."

I watch him for a minute and then look back at Luka. "This really was a good year to get me an espresso maker."

"Why's that?"

"Because." I watch as Joe starts pulling toys out of a plastic crate and arranging them on his play table. "I'm definitely not going to survive until he's three without it."

* * *

><p>"Wow," Luka murmurs, later, when we're sitting in the living room surrounded by boxes of photos, obeying the wishes of a toddler because…well, probably because we both love him, and because we're both incredible suckers.<p>

"What?"

He passes me the photo. "Dr. Greene's wedding."

"Wow." I study it. Everyone from County who was there, smiling, except Mark, who's grinning like mad. "I wish we'd been able to go."

"Me too." I pass the photo back and stretch a little on the sofa. He turns just enough to catch my eye. "I was looking forward to dancing with you."

"Liar. You were looking forward to groping me on the dance floor and enjoying the look on Carter's face."

He grins sheepishly and shrugs. "Why can't it be both?"

I laugh a little and rest my head on my hand. "If I recall correctly, you were actually very sweet that night. You took me home and made me tea and soup and pretended you weren't totally disgusted by the fact that I was practically a leper."

"A very pretty leper, though." He leans against me and kisses my knee. "You were very cute, in your flannel pajamas. I remember you fell asleep holding the spoon. I practically had to fight you for it when I brought you to bed."

"Well, you know how I am with my silverware. Besides, I needed something to fight you off in case you decided you wanted to play doctor."

He takes the photo and puts it on the table with the rest and then turns to drape his arm across my waist. "Like a spoon would keep me away."

"You know, I remember you being a lot more of a gentleman back then."

He pulls me off the couch and I sort of fall onto his lap and I laugh as he holds me against him. "I was still trying to charm you. Now I've got you."

"So you don't have to be a gentleman anymore?"

He kisses me and I shift one leg to drape over his lap so I'm straddling him. "Nope."

"Cause you figure I'll sleep with you anyway?"

"Yup." His hands are under my shirt, moving up my back and I'm pretty sure I know where they're heading. "Remember? You can't resist me."

"Sad but true." I definitely can't resist him right now. We've crossed the line from flirting to foreplay and my sense of self-control and rationality dissolve when he's kissing my neck and holding me against him and touching me like this. Which is why I can't be held responsible for that night in his apartment when he kissed me and proceeded, almost immediately, to get me pregnant. I lose all cognitive function once he starts in on the foreplay.

"And I definitely can't resist you."

My shirt is being dragged over my head and my bra undone all at once. He still can't play foosball but he's a fucking magician when it comes to undressing me.

"You're really working the charm today, aren't you?" I tilt my head back as he kisses my neck.

"Thought you said I wasn't charming?"

"I said you weren't a gentleman. That's different."

"I see." He cups my cheek in his hand and pauses a minute.

I open my eyes to see him looking at me intently. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." He smiles. "I'm just…this is going to sound corny – "

"I'm used to it by now," I murmur.

He tilts his head down to rest his forehead against mine and I can feel his bangs brush my temples. "I was just thinking that it's like…we've got this turning point, you know? A fresh page, or something, with the New Year and your birthday and I – I want to make it…count."

"You don't think we're making it count?" I shift a little on his lap.

"No, that's not – of course we are." He kisses my forehead. "I just meant that things haven't been easy the past few years. And if I can help it, I'd like to make this one…I want you to be happy."

I drape my arms around his neck. "I am."

"No, I know that. I just meant – "

"I know what you meant. But I don't want easy. For all the stuff we've gone through…with Joe being in the NICU, and Ames, and your father, and my rehab, all of it…I tried to keep that stuff from happening, before, the painful stuff, and so yeah, I wasn't getting hurt as much, but I wasn't happy, either. For all the shit we've been through, I don't think I've ever been happy like I have been, every time we've come out the other side." I slide my hands up under his sweater, so my palms are spread out on his lower back. "Screw easy."

He kisses me gently. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"I'm not opposed to hearing it again."

"I love you." He rests his head in the crook of my neck and I can feel his breath on my collarbone. "So much, Abby."


	20. Never Going Back Again

A/N: Thanks to Essy for betaing this ridiculously long chapter. The next one should take a little less time to update. Probably.

* * *

><p><strong>"Never Going Back Again"<strong>

"Lockhart, your trauma, two minutes out!" I look up just in time to see a pair of latex gloves coming at me, only one of which I catch. The other hits me in the face. I hear a snicker.

"Shut up, Teddy."

Cavanaugh clears her throat. "Might want to get a fresh pair of gloves, Doctor Lockhart. Or at least one."

I shoot Teddy a glance as I grab a glove. "You know what, I think there's an impacted colon in four that's still waiting. Might want to get on that." I hold out the box of exam gloves. "You'll need these."

Magda, the nurse manager, waits until he's gone before murmuring, "Point, Lockhart."

"He should know better than to mess with me right now. I'm not a very nice person when I get dragged in on a Saturday in to cover for Axelrod."

"I still don't buy that he's got the flu." She hands me a sterile gown.

"It better be worse than the flu. Like, terminal crabs or something." I head outside to meet the rig, which thankfully doesn't take long, since it's freezing out.

"Single MVA, LOC on the scene. Airbag deployed but no seatbelt, passenger was thrown from the car. Pulled the driver here out through the window." The paramedic jumps out of the rig and starts unloading the stretcher.

"Car flipped?"

"Yeah."

"You pulled her out yourself?" I can see blood on his sleeve. "Go inside, get yourself stitched up. We've got this."

The other paramedic is still bagging the patient as we go inside. It's not until we get to the trauma room and one of the residents goes to tube her that I see her face.

"Get Cavanaugh."

"She's next door with the passenger," Magda tells me.

"I don't care, just get her in here. Tell her I'll take the passenger."

"I don't understand."

"Just do it."

She leaves, and a minute later Cavanaugh comes in. "Why did you pull me in here? My patient – "

"I'll take yours. I can't run this one." Cavanaugh hesitates, and I glance at her. "I know her. I'm not cutting her open."

She nods. "Fine."

"Check her BAL before you give her anything."

"What's her name?" Magda asks.

I pause with one hand on the door to the next room, just for a second, trying to convince myself that it's justifiable to violate her trust, the rules of AA, and probably HIPPA by giving them her name. That this is one of those situations where I don't have a choice.

I still feel like shit when I answer. "Caroline."

* * *

><p>"Hey."<p>

She blinks a few times and squints. "Abby?"

"Yeah."

"Where am I?" She tries to sit up and winces. "Am – am I in the hospital?"

"Yeah. Do you remember what happened?"

"I…" She trails off. "I was at a party. What…I don't know what happened after that. Why are you here?"

"I work here. You were in a car accident."

"My chest hurts."

I nod. "You had surgery for a collapsed lung. You broke your clavicle and some ribs, too. You were pretty lucky, considering."

"Lucky?"

"It could have been a lot worse. Your car flipped over."

Her eyes close and she frowns. "I didn't…I don't even remember drinking."

"I know." I do know – there were a lot of times I couldn't remember how I ended up drunk to begin with. "Your sister was in the car with you."

"No." She tries to shake her head and draws in a sharp breath. "I wouldn't drive with her in the car if I was drunk."

"Sometimes we do things we never thought we'd do when we've been drinking. I know what that's like."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Caroline – "

"Are you sure I was even drinking? I don't…I mean, I can't even remember having anything."

"You were. Your blood alcohol level was point two-two."

"I…" She makes a soft whining sound that reminds me of Joe when I take away a toy. "I really don't remember, Abby."

"I know."

She sniffles. "Wait, you said…where's Erin?"

"She's still in surgery." I don't know if she'd rather hear it coming from me or from her parents, but I also know that it's not my place to tell her that there's a good chance her sister won't make it. "Your parents are on their way."

"You called them?"

"I didn't call them myself, no. One of the nurses did."

"Why?" She looks panicked. "You can't do that. You don't understand…they're going to hate me. They already hate me for fucking up my life, and now they're going to know I fucked up Erin's, too."

I want to tell her they won't hate her. I can't, though. I've seen enough parents and children go through situations like this and never speak to each other again. "They needed to be here. You were in an accident. No matter what, even if they're angry, I know they want to be here to be with you and your sister."

"Is it really bad?" She's on the verge of hysterics now. "Why is she still in surgery?"

"She had a lot of injuries. It takes a long time to operate, and sometimes they want to call in a specialist in case."

"For what?"

I hesitate. As much as she deserves the truth, needs to hear it, she isn't in any state to hear the details right now. "I'm not sure. I haven't checked on her in a few hours."

"Can you check? Now?" She tries to move again and lets out a gasp of pain.

"You need to lie still. I can check in a couple of minutes, but I think it might be a good idea for you to close your eyes for a little while. If you need something for the pain – "

"No."

"No to what?"

"No to drugs. I don't want them. I can't…if Erin…I don't want anything."

"You don't have to punish yourself."

"I deserve it. And I don't want it anyway. I don't want…I don't want this anymore. I just…tell me what to do and I'll do it. I'll go to meetings every day and I'll wear one of those ankle things and I'll take that thing that makes you sick if you drink, I don't care. Please don't give me anything."

I nod slowly. "I can give you a non-opioid analgesic. No narcotics, unless the pain gets too much to handle, okay?"

I wait until she makes a noise approximating agreement and go outside, closing the door behind me. The officer standing outside glances at me. "I need to question her."

"If you talk to her right now, she's going to get hysterical and could tear her stitches. She needs to sleep for a little while and her parents need to talk to her about her sister. She can't even sit up. I don't think she's going anywhere. And even if she could, she's not going to make a break for it knowing her sister is upstairs, hooked to a ventilator."

"And how do you know that? She got behind the wheel with her kid sister while she was practically bleeding vodka. You have no clue what she's going to do."

"Look, I know you're doing your job, but my job is to keep her alive, and you're going to have to trust me when I tell you that she can't go anywhere."

He crosses his arms and straightens up, apparently trying to intimidate me. I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling him that I'm not the least bit bothered by men towering over me, considering the one I go home to every night has about thirteen inches on me. "She's already got a DUI on her record. She's facing felony charges."

"She's also facing some pretty serious injuries." I step a little closer to him. "I'll be in at seven tomorrow morning. You can either sit out here until then or you can issue a citation."

We have a little bit of a stare-off. After a minute he nods and steps back. "Have a good night, Doc. I'll see you tomorrow. Bright and early."

* * *

><p>Both Luka and Joe are asleep when I finally get home. I take a quick shower and try to be as quiet as possible getting into bed, but the minute my head is on the pillow, Luka's eyes flutter open. "Hey."<p>

"Hey."

"Rough night?" He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand.

"Yeah."

"Want to talk about it?" I shake my head a little. "Abby?"

"Can we just…not talk? I need…" I swallow against the lump that's been in my throat all night.

"What?"

"I need…you."

"I'm right here," he whispers. "Hey." I move closer to him and he wraps his arms around me. "It's okay."

I look up at him. "Luka."

He nods slowly and moves to kiss me, and I'm not sure for a minute if he understands, but then I feel his fingers brush against my hip and he takes off my pajamas and his, and a minute later he's inside me and I can let everything else go, just for a little while, and get lost in the way he feels against me and the sound of him breathing and the warmth of his body on top of mine.

"Abby?" He's moving a little less gracefully now and I can feel his heart pounding against my skin and the tension in his muscles.

I shake my head a little and press my face into his shoulder. "It's okay," I whisper.

"Are you – "

"Yes." I wrap my leg around his hips. It's not what I need, tonight – the high, the endorphins, it's not the point. I just need _him_, close to me. As close as I can get.

I'm still holding onto him, after, and he moves just enough that he's not crushing me, and I fall asleep with my arms and one leg still wrapped around him. When my alarm goes off a few hours later, we're still laying like that, and my hair is damp and sort of stuck to my face with sweat from the heat of him covering me.

I wash my hair and get dressed before checking on Joe, who is still sleeping. So is his father, when I come back to the bedroom. I lean over him and kiss his temple. "I have to go back in."

"It's Sunday," he mumbles.

"I know. I'm sorry. There's some stuff going on."

"Abby?"

"Mmhmm?"

He rubs a hand over his face and studies me for a moment. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I brush my fingers through his hair and lean over to kiss him. "I'll call and let you know what's going on if I'm not home by noon."

"What about your meeting?"

"I'll go to one tonight, if I can. Or this week."

As I move away, he reaches out and grabs my hand. For a minute, I think he's going to tell me to wait, that we need to talk, but he just squeezes it. "I love you.

"I love you, too."

* * *

><p>I'm pulled in on a trauma before I even walk in the doors and don't get up to the ICU to check on Caroline for another hour. The cop is asleep in a chair outside her room, and I'm pretty relieved that no one clued him in to the fact that I'm not actually the doctor on her case, and that I have absolutely no authority to keep him out of her room. Caroline looks miserable when I walk in – apparently her sister made it through the night, albeit with a fractured skull and a damaged liver. She tells me her mother came to check on her for about ten minutes to let her know about her sister and hasn't come back since.<p>

I'm almost relieved to realize that she knows the cop is out there, and why, because I think if I had to tell her, I'd throw up. Even if she did break the law and endanger her sister's life, not to mention her own, there's not that usual flare of anger that I get when a drunk driver comes in. I don't want to see her more miserable than she already is, or be punished more than she's already punishing herself. It's not rational, I know, because she does need to face the consequences, but still, I find myself wanting to cry right along with her as the cop comes in and starts to question her.

"Why didn't he arrest me?" she whispers after he's left.

"I think since you're in here, they'll probably send you a citation. When you get out of the hospital, they'll arraign you." It's not the whole truth – what the cop told me, and what I suspected anyway, was that they'll issue the citation once they know if there's going to be a manslaughter charge attached.

She looks at me with a dull sort of expression. "I hope they do send me to jail."

I bite my lip. "Honestly, I think there's a pretty good chance they will."

"Good. I deserve it."

I don't know what to say to that, so I hold up a plastic bag. "Care package."

She forces a small smile. "Thanks."

"Sure. The blankets here are pretty crap, so I thought you could use an extra. There's a couple of books and an iPod to keep you busy."

"You bought me an iPod?"

I smile. "No. It's mine. It's just until you're out of here, and don't even think about giving me crap about my playlists."

"I won't."

"And I brought an extra one of these guys in case you wanted it." I put the AA handbook on her side table.

She's quiet for a few minutes. "You think they'll ever forgive me?"

"Your parents?" She nods. "I think it's going to be hard for all of you for a while, but it'll be a lot easier for them to forgive you if you're getting your life on track. And I don't mean you should do it for them, or for your sister. You have to do it for yourself, or else it won't stick. I'm just saying that it'll help. A lot."

"I want to."

"Good." I squeeze her hand gently. "I have to get back. I'll check on you tomorrow, okay?"

"Thanks, Abby." She looks like she's going to cry again. "I mean…you know. Just…thanks."

I nod. "I know."

As I'm heading into the doctors' lounge to grab my coat, I see Cavanaugh coming toward me. Shit. "Abby, good, you're still here."

"I'm – I was just about to leave."

"I need you to stay. I know you were on yesterday, but we're down two residents and Dr. Axelrod is still out."

"I barely slept – "

She crosses her arms and leans in a little bit. "I know. I'm sorry, but half the on-call team is contagious. And as much as I'd like to haul them in and punish them for not getting their flu shots, we don't need to create any new patients."

I rub my neck. "Yeah. Okay. Let me make a quick phone call."

"If there's a lull, feel free to grab a cot in the on-call room."

"Thanks." I call Luka to let him know I'm not coming home, and I can almost hear him frowning through the phone.

"Okay."

"I'm sorry. Really. We're swamped, and, they need me. I tried to get out of it, but everybody's sick."

"Yeah, but how is it going to help if you get sick, too? You need rest. Didn't seem like you got much last night."

"I didn't. I'll get some sleep tonight."

"Okay." He sighs a little. "Joe says hi."

"Kiss him for me."

"Joe, what do you say to Mama?"

There's some muffled noises and I hear Luka encouraging Joe, who is presumably watching cartoons and wants be left alone to stare at the television. Luka says something in Croatian, and I hear a little whining and a concession. "Hi, Mama."

"Hi, Joe. What are you watching?"

"Soccer ball game."

"You're watching soccer with Tata?"

"Yes."

I have to fight back the urge to ask him to put Luka back on the phone so I can scold him for letting Joe watch television so much. I can't really criticize when I'm not there.

"How about when I get home tonight, you can draw me a picture of you and Tata playing soccer?"

"Uh-huh."

I give up. Trying to tear his attention away from the TV is like…well, like trying to tear his father's attention away from the TV. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Kay. Will see you tonight."

More shuffling. "I'll see you for dinner, yeah?"

"Hopefully."

He sighs again. "Abby…"

"I'm doing my best. I'm going to try to get out of here as soon as I can. I'll be home by seven…eight at the latest."

"Eight?"

"It'll depend on if somebody else can come in to cover."

"Yeah. All right. See you then."

* * *

><p>He's waiting for me in the kitchen when I get home. He stands up to help me take off my coat, and lays it over the back of a chair. "I was getting worried. It's almost ten."<p>

"I know. I was being chewed out by an ICU doc for putting a note in his patient's chart. Apparently it screwed up his clinical trial, not that I really care."

"Why would you put a note in an ICU chart?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No." He shrugs. "I was just asking. I'm not accusing you of anything."

I sigh a little and move closer to him, and he hugs me to him. "Sorry. I'm just…it's been a long day."

"Yesterday was a long day, too." He leans back a little and looks down at me. "What's going on?"

"There was – is – a patient. I know her from AA. She came into the ER last night and she's having a rough time."

He sits down at the table and pulls me along with him. I fall into his lap and rest my head on his. "I'm sorry."

"So am I. She doesn't really have anyone to support her. So I've been trying to…you know."

"Was she – I mean, was it – when she came to the hospital – "

"I can't tell you that. For a lot of reasons."

He turns his head a little, and I can see the frown lines creasing his face. "We're invoking doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"It's more complicated than that. I'm just – I know you'd never say anything to anybody, but it's a trust thing. I have to respect it."

He nods a little, although I can tell he's not convinced. "You hungry?"

"I had a sandwich from the cafeteria. Not that I'd really call it food, but, well, you know."

"You'd think we'd have built up a tolerance by now."

"I think years of your Turkish mud have counteracted any resistance."

He nudges me a little. "Come on."

"What?"

"You need some sleep. So do I. Joe didn't fall asleep until about fifteen minutes ago."

"Great." I stand up. "He's going to be a basket case tomorrow."

"Well, so how about we sleep in an extra hour? All of us."

"Luka – "

"Just…call in and say Joe's not feeling well. It's not like it's a lie. Like you said, he's going to be cranky if we get him up too early."

"I can't, Luka."

"Why?" He flips off the kitchen light and follows me up the stairs. "They know you've been working overtime. They'll understand."

"Ca – my patient's sister is scheduled for surgery at seven. I promised I'd be there in case anything happened."

"You're going in _early_?"

"Just a little."

"What about Joe? He won't even be up by the time you leave. He hasn't seen you since yesterday morning, Abby."

"I know that. You don't think I hate that I haven't seen him?"

He closes the bedroom door behind us. "I don't think anything."

"Come on, Luka. I'm not avoiding you guys because I want to."

"I didn't say you were." He sits down on the bed and begins to take off his shoes and socks. "You've barely slept in two days. It's not going to help them much if you get sick, too."

"Well, lucky for me, I had the sense to get a flu shot this year."

He rolls his eyes. "It doesn't mean you're invisible."

It takes me a minute. I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing. "Invincible. And thank you. Because I was operating under the assumption that the flu shot was what gave Spiderman his powers."

"You know what I meant." He throws a dirty sock in my direction.

"Hey!"

"Hey, yourself. I'm just saying, you don't have to save everybody."

"I know that." I begin to unbutton my shirt. "Look, I know you're just trying to look out for me, but you don't have to worry, okay? I'm a big girl."

"Big girls need sleep, too."

I sigh and pull a sleep shirt over my head. "Then stop badgering me about it and shut off the light so we can both get some." I catch his eye. "Some _sleep_."

He's quiet for a minute, and then moves to turn off the light. I lay beside him and feel him shift on the mattress as he turns on his side and then the weight of his arm across my waist. "I missed you this weekend."

"Luka…"

"I'm not saying it to make you feel guilty. I'm just…saying it."

I feel his fingers brush against the skin exposed between my shirt and pants. "Well…thank you."

"You're welcome."

"And I missed you too."

He shifts a little closer to me. "Thank you."

* * *

><p>I wake up to my cell phone ringing and pitch blackness around me. It takes me a minute to get my bearings, and by the time I've managed to answer the phone, Luka's turned on the lamp, probably to keep me from knocking anything else off the nightstand.<p>

"Sorry," I whisper, and shut myself in the bathroom. "Hello?"

"Abby?"

"Yeah. Caroline?"

"I – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, but I don't – I don't know what – " She breaks off, and I can hear her crying. "My mom came in and said Erin's in surgery now and that – I don't know what happened, she just said - I didn't understand what she said but I think it's really bad."

"Okay. It's okay. Just – give me one minute and then I'm going to go downstairs and call the hospital to find out. I'll call you back in a couple of minutes."

"Okay." I can hear more crying as I open the bathroom door.

The light's still on. Luka has one arm slung over his face, but he moves and turns his head to look at me. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry. It was…" I don't know what to tell him. I feel like I'm in a grey area, between AA confidentiality and doctor-patient privacy. Then again, he knows I'm sponsoring Caroline, but I haven't told him she's the one who was in the accident. I hesitate. "The girl I sponsor is having kind of a crisis. I'm going to go downstairs and make a call. Go back to sleep."

"Abby – "

"I know. Okay? I – it's just bad timing."

I instinctively go to the coffee maker as soon as I get downstairs, and realize Luka forgot to clean it out. The pot still has a little coffee from yesterday in it. I take the kitchen phone from the cradle and dial the hospital while I pour the day-old coffee into a mug and stick it in the microwave.

I really thought I'd never have to do that again once I finished med school.

"Hi, this is Dr. Lockhart, I need you to check the status of a patient who just went into surgery."

"Who?"

"Abby Lockhart. I'm an attending in the ER. Can you check on a patient for me?"

"Hold on."

Two transfers later, I manage to get the nurse's station in the ICU. I call Caroline back and tell her I'll be there in half an hour and trudge back upstairs to change.

"Hey." I brush my hand over Luka's arm, and his eyes flutter open. "I, um…I have to – "

"You have to go," he mumbles. "I figured."

I brush my hair back into a ponytail. "I'm sorry. If you need me to stay, take Joe to play group or something – "

"It's fine. I can drive him there myself." He rubs his hand over his eyes. "When should I expect to see you again?"

"Luka – "

"I mean, are you coming home after, or what?"

"I can. If you want me to. Otherwise I'll crash in the on-call room until my shift starts."

He sits up and cocks his head a little. "If I want you to?"

"I know I haven't been home the last couple days and you've had to take care of Joe by yourself, and if it's – "

"You think I'm upset because I've had to be alone with Joe?"

"I don't know." I slip on a pair of pants. "I wish I didn't have to go in, but – "

"You don't have to. No one's making you. It's two in the morning, Abby. If you want to go, go, but it's your choice."

"You make it sound like I'm trying to avoid you. I told you, I need to be there for this girl and we're understaffed in the ER. It's bad timing, is all."

"You're Joe's mother. And my wife. We haven't seen you."

"I'll be here tonight, with both of you. Eight o' clock." I button my shirt. "And I know whose wife and mother I am. You don't have to tell me."

He sighs. "Look, Abby…maybe this patient needs you, but we need you, too. Not just in the middle of the night when you're upset."

I turn around slowly. "Excuse me?"

"I didn't mean – "

"You didn't mean to accuse me of using you for a quick fuck the other night?"

"That's not what I said."

"Funny, because that's exactly what it sounded like to me. I promise, next time I'm upset, I won't try to have sex with you."

"Abby – "

"Look. We're both tired. You go back to sleep, and I'm going to go to work."

"I thought you were going to help that girl, what's-her-name."

"I am. At work." I slip on my shoes. "I'll see you tonight."

"Uh-huh."

"Luka – "

"It's fine. Go to work or this girl or wherever. I'll see you whenever you get home."

* * *

><p>Caroline's sister makes it through surgery, but just barely. By the time she's out and stable, I'm exhausted, and staring down a twelve-hour shift. I sit with Caroline and try to explain what's happening with her sister and reassure her the best I can before grabbing a cot in the on-call room and passing out cold for a couple hours.<p>

I clean myself up a little in the ladies room before my shift, but it doesn't seem to help. Rena sees me as I walk out of the lounge and stops dead in her tracks. "Jesus fuck, what happened to you?"

"Axelrod," I manage to mutter before taking a gulp of coffee.

"You didn't…?" She gives me a horrified look.

"Oh god, no. That's disgusting. No, he was home with the flu, supposedly, and I had to cover his shifts this weekend. I didn't sleep much."

"No kidding." She crosses her arms. "Is Ass Rod back, miraculously cured now that Monday has rolled around and his hookers have to go back to their day jobs?"

I glance at the board. "Supposedly. If you see him before I do, do me a favor and 'accidentally' spill a couple of urine samples on him, would you?"

"I was going to do that anyway, but sure, I'll throw an extra one in there on your behalf."

"Thanks."

The day slogs on, and maybe it's just that I'm tired and still thinking about the argument with Luka and how I haven't seen Joe in two days, but it seems like every patient I see is deliberately uncooperative. I almost burst into tears in the middle of running a trauma when the patient vomits directly on my brand-new, very expensive shoes that I've been pretending don't hurt like hell because they're just so beautiful. Now they just hurt and are covered in partially digested food. I have to borrow a pair of sneakers from one of the nurses, and they don't smell much better than the vomit-covered shoes did.

"Hey, Abby." I come out of the ladies' room, holding my just-rinsed, probably ruined shoes, to see Axelrod himself coming toward me. Great. I just glare at him, and he stops short. "I wasn't going to give you a hard time, I just wanted to say thanks for covering my shifts this weekend."

I shrug. "I didn't have much of a choice."

"Still. Let me know if you need me to cover for you sometime."

"Oh. Well…any chance you want to cover for me tomorrow so I can get some sleep?"

"Can't tomorrow." He takes a sip from a massive Starbucks cup. "Wednesday?"

I purse my lips. Chances are I'll end up in here, anyway, on Wednesday, since Caroline won't be released until the end of the week, at the soonest. "It's fine. I'll take an IOU."

"Sure. You want a cup of coffee or something to keep you awake?"

He's being way too nice. Either he had a personality transplant this weekend, he's delirious from fever, or this is another attempt on his part to convince me that I desperately want him. "I'm good, thanks. Gotta get back."

By six, I'm dragging, and no longer capable of hiding it. Cavanaugh comes in just before seven and takes one look at me. "Go home."

"I have another hour."

"We'll be fine. You look like hell, and I know you worked through the weekend. Go."

"Thanks."

I have to struggle to stay awake as I drive home, but I make it, somehow. I'm too tired now to be mad at Luka for what he said, and I'd really just like to shower and hold Joe and have Luka hold me.

"Mama!" Joe comes barreling at me as soon as I walk in the door, and I scoop him up and kiss his head.

"I missed you today. Did you have fun at your play group?"

He lays his head on my shoulder. His response is muffled by his thumb. "Uh-huh."

I head into the kitchen to see Luka standing at the stove, poking a couple of pieces of chicken in a pan. "Hi."

He glances up at me. "Hi," he says quietly. "You're early."

"I got a break since I worked all weekend. Now we can all have dinner together." I kiss Joe's head again.

"Dinner should be ready soon."

"Okay. Need me to do anything?"

"No." His eyes are on the stove again.

"Okay, well…how about you help me set the table, Joe?"

Luka stays quiet through dinner, even when Joe starts babbling away about…well, it's not entirely clear what he's talking about, because I have a tough time believing that someone brought an octopus to play group, but I play along anyway. Every so often, Luka asks a question or reaches over to keep Joe from knocking something onto the floor, but that's about it.

When it's time to put Joe to bed, I ask Luka if he minds if I do it, since I haven't been home the past couple of nights.

"You're his mother," he says, and shrugs. "Why would you have to ask me?"

"I was just…" Joe squirms in my arms and I shift him a little. "Never mind. Joe, let's go pick out a book."

I end up letting him pick two. And one more after we're through with those. We haven't read three in a row since Luka was in Croatia, when lying in bed and reading to Joe wasn't just the best part of my day, it was my way of putting off dealing with the silence in the apartment without Luka.

Actually, we don't make it all the way through the third book. Joe's asleep by the second page, and I know if I don't get up, I'm going to fall asleep right next to him. And I'm a little tall for the rocket ship bed. Not a lot, but still.

I stand under the stream of water for a good fifteen minutes before I muster the energy to wash my hair. When I get out, the bedroom is still empty. I go downstairs to find Luka in front of the TV and tentatively sit next to him. "Hey."

"Hi."

"I, um…I was thinking, maybe I'd drive Joe to play group in the morning."

"It doesn't start until eight."

"I know, but I could drop him off a couple minutes early. You can sleep in a little, since you've gotten up with him the last two days."

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. "I already told you I don't – "

"I know you don't mind spending time with him. I know that. I was just offering. It'll give me a couple extra minutes with him in the car and…I was trying to give you a break, too. I know I haven't been here."

"If you want to drop him off, go ahead. I'll probably get up when he does, anyway,"

"Okay."

"Okay."

I bite my lip. "Are we going to talk?"

He shrugs a little. "What are we doing right now?"

"I meant…you know what I meant."

"We don't have anything to talk about. If there's something you need to tell me – "

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You tell me." He flips through a couple of channels. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You know, sometimes…." I sigh. "Never mind. I'm going to go to bed. I'll see you in the morning, all right?"

"Yup."

I'm sort of thankful that I'm as tired as I am, because this way, I don't have to lie in bed trying to figure out what's in his head or how pissed off at him I am. As much as I'd like to fall asleep with him beside me, _not_ pissing me off, I don't have the energy to pester him into talking to me.

I pause by Joe's doorway on my way to bed and watch him for a minute. Honestly, I do hope he's like Luka in as many ways as possible, but I'd really love it if he didn't inherit the brooding gene or whatever it is that makes him do that. I don't think I have the strength to put up with two of them sulking.

Tired as I am right now, _that_ sounds absolutely exhausting.

* * *

><p>The Elder Kovač is still doing the brooding bit the next morning, but Joe seems to be more than happy to fill the available silence. The ride to play group is spent interrogating me about why he has to wear shoes. Apparently he finds it very unjust that the cat next door doesn't have to wear shoes, but he does. "Cats don't wear any clothes," I tell him.<p>

"But Tata says he has socks," Joe counters.

"It's a different kind of socks. It just means that his paws are a different color from his body."

"Why?"

I sigh. I've walked into the "why" trap. Great. "Because they just are."

"Why?"

One of these days, I'm going to come up with an answer that satisfies him. I put on the radio, instead, which distracts him enough to let me off the hook.

When I drop him off, he gives me the lost puppy eyes and asks if he can come to work with me. I'm bracing myself to feel like shit when I tell him no, but we never get that far, thanks to Owen, the red-head, who bounds up to Joe wearing a cape and brandishes a foam sword at me. Joe looks momentarily torn between defending my honor and getting to wear a cape, but I know my place. "It's okay," I tell him. "Go save Gotham."

I spend my lunch break up with Caroline. Her sister is stable and conscious, thankfully, although it's still not clear how bad her head trauma was. I explain as best I can to Caroline, how it'll be a little while before the doctors can assess whether there's any brain damage and that until the swelling goes down, there's no way to know if she'll be paralyzed.

"What if she is?" Caroline chews on her lip.

I hand her my Chapstick. "Then she'll start rehab as soon as she's released from the hospital. They'll help her get back as much strength as she can and teach her how to deal with her injuries."

"If she's conscious, why can't they figure out if she has brain damage?"

"Because she's on painkillers. A lot of them. She's conscious, but she's still pretty out of it."

She tries to shift a little and winces. I move the pillow behind her. "If they…you know…send me to jail, can you just, like…let me know how she's doing? I don't think my parents are gonna want to see me."

"If you promise me you'll keep working the steps and going to meetings."

"There are meetings in jail?"

I nod. "There are meetings pretty much everywhere."

"Have…" She eyes me. "Have you…you know…?"

"Been to jail? No." Thankfully. "When I was a med student, I observed a prison infirmary a couple of times."

"Oh."

"You haven't answered my question."

She sighs a little. "Yeah. I'll keep going to meetings and working the steps."

"You know if you're in there when you get your thirty days chip, I could bring you a cake with a shiv in it to celebrate."

"A what?"

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. "Never mind."

* * *

><p>Luka teaches a late class on Tuesdays, so it's just me and Joe when I get home. It's kind of a relief, not having to worry about what Luka's thinking, just spending time alone with Joe, hearing about his superhero adventure with Owen and Isabella and another kid whose name I always forget – probably because it's ridiculous. All I can ever remember is that it's incredibly pretentious, like Florian or Tristan or something. And that he's kind of a pain in the ass.<p>

Maybe Joe's such a great kid because he doesn't have to put up with the shame of having a name that makes him sound like a character in a trashy romance novel.

Although I guess it's a little pretentious in full – Josip Mihael Kovač. It took us a while on the middle name, but it seemed right to honor Gallant, and it's Luka's confirmation name, and, well, it seemed like it couldn't hurt to appeal to the patron saint of the sick given where Joe was at the time.

Still, it's not like we gave him a Croatian name to be pretentious. And I don't go around demanding people pronounce his name with an accent. Hell, I can't even pronounce it with an accent, at least one that doesn't make Luka laugh.

As I'm tucking Joe in, I hear the front door open. Luka passes me just as I'm coming out of Joe's room and hesitates outside the bedroom door. I follow him, and he turns. "I'm just going to shower, if you needed to – "

"No. Go ahead." I sit on the edge of the bed as he pulls a pair of sweatpants and a shirt out of the dresser. "Can you help me with my necklace?"

He nods a little and puts the clothes on the bed. I turn and move my hair off my neck so he can reach the clasp, and I can feel his fingers linger at the nape of my neck for just a fraction of a second. "There you go." He hands me the necklace.

"Thanks." I just stand there a minute, holding the chain and watching him. "Luka?"

"I'm just going to shower," he repeats.

I sit back down and just watch him from the corner of my eye. I don't know if he even realizes what it's like when he goes all quiet like this – he's said before that he doesn't brood, that he just wants to give me space and let things cool off so neither of us ends up saying something we can't take back. Again, at least. Except we end up not saying anything, which I kind of think is even worse.

And I kind of think I'm done with it, because it's not getting us anywhere.

"Don't – you know what, no." I stand up and grab the clothes out of his hands. "You don't get to do this. You want to have a fight, let's have one. None of this silent…brooding bullshit. It stopped being sexy a long time ago and now it's just pissing me off."

"Pissing you off?" He looks at me incredulously.

"Yeah, Luka, it's pissing me off, because you're not four years old, you're a grown man, and if you're mad at me or worried or whatever the fuck you are, then tell me. Let's argue about it, because I'd sure as hell rather that than put up with you giving me the silent treatment and leaving me to guess what's wrong."

"I have told you, Abby. I told you I thought you needed to take a step back, that it was driving you crazy and you've been killing yourself for this girl you barely know!"

"That's not telling me what's wrong, that's telling me what you think, and when I disagree, you shut me out. And I'm tired of it, I'm tired of having to tiptoe around you the last couple of days and…I'm tired of coming home to somebody who won't look at me…and I'm just fucking _tired._"

"I'm not shutting you out."

"Then what are you doing? Because that's what it feels like, it feels like you're punishing me for not taking your advice!" I'm trying not to yell, because the last thing we need right now is to wake Joe, but it's taking a lot of self-control and I'm not sure how much I have left at this point. I move closer to him and I can't really get in his face since I'm a foot shorter than he is, but I can make it a lot harder for him to look somewhere other than at me. "So can you please just quit being pissy for just a minute and act like an adult and tell me _what the fuck_ _is_ _wrong?_"

"You want to know what's wrong?"

"No, Luka, I'm saying it for the hell of it, what do you think?"

"I think…I think I'm terrified of you, Abby! Because I can see this, this thing with the girl, and it's upsetting you and keeping you away from me and from Joe and you're not sleeping, and I'm terrified of what it's going to do to you to keep this up!" His voice gets louder and he clenches his fists. "I know you want to help her but I won't let you put all of your time and your energy into helping someone if it's going to end up hurting you. I won't. If it makes me a bad person to say that, I don't care, because I'm not going to watch you fall apart again. I – god, I think about how much pain it could have saved us both if I'd just come home when you asked me, and I know we came through all that better, but I'm not willing to take the risk that we can do that again!"

My mouth falls open a little and I walk over to the bed and sink down onto the mattress. "You think I'm going to drink again?"

He looks at me with this expression that brings me back to that night Ames took him, as he was walking out the door with Ames, and he turned around and looked at me and I could see how afraid he was. It wasn't until later, waiting in the cold outside the building, terrified, that I got it, what that look was. He wasn't afraid of what Ames might do to him. He was afraid that it was the last time he'd see me and Joe, and standing out there, I felt it too. Except for when Joe was born, I don't think I've ever been as scared in my entire life as I was then.

He kneels down in front of me and takes my hands, gripping them so hard it hurts, and kisses them before dropping his head to rest against my knuckles.

"Luka," I murmur.

"You're _so_ strong, Abby, but it scares the hell out of me not to know if that's enough to stop you if things get bad. I know I fucked things up before, that I should have talked to you and let you know you could talk to me about it, and instead I pretended it didn't exist because I wanted to believe that we were both past all of what had messed things up the first time." He looks up at me. "I don't know what made it happen the last time, if it was just that I was gone and…and I just…I don't know. I don't know if I'm supposed to be quiet and just go along or if I'm supposed to push you to talk to me when you don't want to, or what. I don't want to say the wrong thing and…"

"And make me drink?"

He nods.

"You can't make me drink. No one can. Look at me." He does, and there's that fear again. "It wasn't your fault."

"Then what was it?"

I look at him, and for a minute, I'm stunned, because he's never asked me that before, never even come close. And it hits me that it's not his fault now, either – that I should have told him. A long time ago. That him brooding is one thing, but I'm the one who hasn't been talking, hasn't tried to explain to him what I've been feeling or thinking or why I need to try to help Caroline. "Me. I was scared. Not just of taking care of Joe alone or of him getting hurt, I…I was scared because I felt like I couldn't do it right, and I was afraid of what would happen if you…"

"If I what?"

"If you realized that you'd made a mistake and that you didn't want to come back. Didn't want to be with me."

"Abby."

"It wasn't your fault," I repeat. "It – it was a lot of things, my own issues, and then instead of facing it, or of admitting to you that I was afraid, I tried to…I couldn't handle it. So I tried to keep from thinking about it or being scared by getting drunk. And I think in part I wanted to prove to myself that I was right, that I couldn't do it, that I was a bad mother and a bad wife and a bad doctor, and that it would inevitably fall apart."

He lets go of my hands and reaches up to take my face in his hands and he kisses me, hard. Almost ferociously. I rake my fingers through his hair and let them drift down until my arms are draped around his neck.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, resting my forehead against his.

"For what?"

"I should have explained it better. Or…at all. Why I feel like I need to help her."

He moves to sit beside me on the bed, and I lean against him a little. "Explain it to me now."

I run my fingers down his arm and across the back of his hand, tracing his veins, and then he turns his hand over and clasps his fingers with mine. "It's part of what's kept me sober. And sane. Having a sponsor. Last spring, Janet – I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't spent…I don't know, hours, on the phone with me, and coming over when Joe was with you. I don't know if I'd have been able to manage it on my own."

"Manage what? Not drinking?"

"That…and just…everything. I was scared, Luka. I thought I'd fucked things up too much to fix it, and I kept reliving all the awful things I'd done when I was drinking, and then I'd go to sleep and have nightmares about it. She was who I could talk to about it. That's what it is, being a sponsor. And I feel like I have to do that for this girl, not just because I have this….this debt…but because it's part of the whole program. Maybe if I'd kept working the steps instead of just pushing it to the side when I felt okay, I wouldn't have started drinking again."

He's quiet for a few minutes, just holding my hand and running his thumb over mine, and then he sighs softly. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. It's what you need to do to stay sober…so you should."

"But?" I glance up at him.

He bites his lip. "But…talk to me. If that helps, I mean. You scared me the last couple of days. I thought…I don't know. You just…scared me."

I smile a little. "You said that."

"Well, you scare me a lot. You always have."

"Yeah?"

He untangles his hand from mine and runs his fingers through my hair before letting his hands drift down to rest on either side of my face. For a second, I think he's going to say something else, but then his lips are on mine and it's pretty clear that he's done talking for the moment. Which is okay with me. The silent brooding might've stopped being sexy, but this kind of not talking definitely still is.

Eventually, though, we do have to talk, because I need to get something out before I chicken out.

I let go of the handful of his shirt that I've been gripping and draw back just the slightest bit. "I need you to ask me."

"Ask you what?"

"To talk to you. If you're worried I might drink, or you don't understand something about the program. I'm not…I don't know how to do that, yet, with this stuff. I need help."

He nods. "I'll try. I – we'll help each other."

"Okay. And I mean…there's some stuff I can't tell you. Not because I don't trust you. I just…can't. It's how it works."

"How do I tell the difference?"

I shrug. "Ask. If I can't tell you, I'll say that. If I don't want to tell you…I'll try to anyway."

"Thank you." He kisses my forehead gently. "For wanting to try, I mean."

"Thank you for asking." I look up at him. "I mean it. Thank you. For…you know. Wanting to know."

He nods slowly. "I shouldn't have said what I did."

"I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I know you were just worried."

"And you know…I have no objections if you want to use me for sex, right?"

I laugh and slide my arms around him. "Good to know."

"I mean…if you're upset…or angry…or bored…or – "

"I get it. I have carte blanche to have sex with you."

"I just wanted to make sure you knew that." He rests his chin on top of my head. "I'm still sorry for how I said it, though. Even if I didn't mean it like that."

"Let's chalk it up to being lost in translation, okay?"

"Okay."

"Now…about that shower…."

"Yeah?"

I curl my fingers under the hem of his sweater. "I mean, 'cause I need to shower too, and I was just thinking – "

"You're not too tired?"

"Not as long as you're willing to do most of the work." I pull his shirt over his head. "Of washing my hair, I mean."

"I can wash other things for you, too, if you like."

"I bet you can."

He grins down at me. "Only one way to find out."


	21. Madame Lonely Heart

A/N: Thanks to Essy for betaing. I'm sorry this update took so long - I've been buried with work and rewrote pieces of this several times. Navigating this story toward its next arc is tough without a map. At least I've got a compass, although it only ever points me toward stuff that's already happened. Guess that explains all the throwbacks to seasons 7 - 9 in this chapter.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Madame Lonely Heart"<strong>

"So when you said we should take advantage of having the house to ourselves…I sort of thought you were talking about something different."

"You did?"

"Uh, yeah, kind of. Otherwise I'd have worn different underwear." I probably wouldn't have been so eager to switch half my Friday shift for Sunday, either.

Luka raises his eyebrows a little. "You're wearing nice underwear?"

"You'll never know now."

"I mean…we can still do that."

I sit down on the floor. "Unpacking moving boxes kind of ruins the mood."

"Well, you know, we've had them here for six months. I thought it was time."

"Some people would consider them a form of artistic expression."

"Are you one of those people?" He tears open the lid of a box.

"I could be."

He just shakes his head a little. I decide not to argue any more. I mean, if I really can't stand this after a half an hour, I'm pretty sure I can persuade him to take advantage of the empty house in the way I'd been thinking. He tends not to need a lot of convincing.

"What is this?" He pulls out a book.

"What's what? I can't see it if – oh god, don't look at that."

"St. Paul Catholic High School, class of – "

"Give that to me." I grab for it, which is completely pointless.

He grins. "Come on, I want to see your picture."

"You really don't. Trust me."

He ignores me and starts flipping pages. "What's a glee club?"

"They spread glee. Come on, Luka."

"I want to see, what's so bad about that?"

"I don't want you to have the image of me with poodle hair cemented in your mind for the rest of your life."

"Poodle hair?" He eyes me. "Now I really want to see."

"If you're thinking it's going to be a picture of me in a little Catholic school uniform and knee socks, you should know, I got detention for a week after that photo was taken."

"Yeah?"

"Not for the reason you're hoping."

"What reason would that be?"

I scoot myself closer to him and pry the book from his hands. "Here. If you insist on scarring yourself, let me at least save time." I flip a few pages. "There. Happy?"

"That's – "

"Yup. Enjoy picturing that every time we have sex from now on."

He studies it. "You don't still have the shirt, do you?"

"Seriously?"

"There's something sort of sexy about a Catholic school girl in a Sex Pistols tee shirt."

"Not how Sister Agnes saw it. I think the phrase she used was 'Satanic prurience.'" I purse my lips. "Although Howie thought it was pretty hot."

Luka looks at me with an expression I can't quite read. "Howie?"

"Mmhmm. Guy I lost my – "

"Yeah, I know." He narrows his eyes a little. "Howie liked the shirt?"

"Are you jealous?"

He closes the book and sets it to one side. "No."

"Liar."

"Is that…you know, why?"

I laugh a little. "You mean is the shirt why we – "

"Yeah."

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe. I mean, he asked me to homecoming a couple weeks later, so my newfound notoriety might've been a turn-on. Or maybe he thought the Sex Pistols were something besides a band. Maybe he lost a bet. Who knows?"

"Why would losing a bet mean he asks you to the dance?"

"There's like, six thousand romantic comedies to answer that question. Popular guy asks out the weird girl, suddenly she takes off her glasses and lets down her hair, and she's miraculously hot and they fall in love." I start stacking books from the box to one side. "Of course, my hair stayed pretty much where it was, and he ended up dumping me, so…"

"Idiot."

"I thought so."

He tilts his head to one side. His voice is soft. "A person would have to be pretty stupid to break up with you."

I hesitate. I'm not sure whether he's making a point or has selective amnesia. "Is that right?"

"It is." He eyes me. Okay. No memory loss, then. "He's probably still kicking himself."

I lean over and he meets me halfway, cupping my cheek in his hand as he kisses me. "He should probably think about getting past that."

He settles back on the floor and reaches out to brush his hand across my knee. "Never."

I can't decide if it's sweet or sad that he's still dwelling on something that happened seven years ago. Particularly since it wasn't all his decision. I kind of backed him into a corner, like I was daring him to keep wanting me even though I was pushing him away.

Okay, so I guess I haven't totally moved on, either.

"So what about you?"

"What about me?" He folds up the empty box.

"Didn't they have high school dances in Croatia?"

He grimaces. "They did."

"And?"

"And…nothing. I went a couple of times, but it was…I don't know, awkward."

"Well, yeah. It's high school." He doesn't say anything, just starts opening the next box. "Come on, I told you my sordid tale of high school romance. You never took a girl to a dance?"

He shrugs. "Daniela's father wouldn't let her go. Her whole family was very religious, but her father was…I had to ask his permission to take her for ice cream. It was like a police interrogation. I almost pissed myself."

I smile at the mental image of Luka at sixteen, skinny and awkward and scared out of his mind. "And you put up with it because you were a nice boy."

"I _became_ a nice boy. I was – I don't know if it was love, but it was something, and after the first time she turned me down – "

"She turned you down?"

He nods. "Twice. The second time I asked why, and she said it was because I wasn't serious enough. She said I didn't take my studies seriously and got into too much trouble and her father would never give her permission to go out with me. So…I reformed my image."

I start laughing. He looks at me with a confused expression. Somehow that makes me laugh harder.

"What's so funny?"

"I'm sorry, it's just – I think it's adorable. You're basically the Croatian Danny Zuko."

"The what?"

"From _Grease._ All you need is a leather jacket and a convertible."

"I didn't have a car until after we were married." He gives a soft snort. "And I'm not sure a Yugo would fly off into the sunset like that, anyway. It would probably burst into flames first."

"Still." I rest my elbow on my knee and head in my hand. "A piece of shit car and a nice Croatian boy…even if he was just faking it…better than Howie Thomas any day."

* * *

><p>"Abby?"<p>

"Hmm?" I look up from my cup of tea to see Luka frowning down at me. "Sorry, what?"

"You okay? I asked if you wanted me to start dinner."

"Sure."

"I mean, we can wait until later, but Isaac said he'd drop Joe off around six, so I thought – "

"No, dinner now is fine."

He sits down beside me on the sofa and brushes his fingers over my cheek. "You sure you're okay?"

I smile. Kind of. "Yeah. I don't know, I was just…spacing out. Thinking about…stuff."

"Any stuff specifically, or just…?"

I set my tea on the coffee table and lean into him a little. He wraps one arm around me. "Stuff about high school. About when I was younger. I don't know, it just kind of made me think, hearing you talk about Danijela…I wonder if I'd done things different in high school, if I'd have gotten my shit together sooner."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…from what you said, it sounds like she knew exactly what she wanted at that age. And you did, too. Whereas I was pretty much focused on avoiding Maggie and on cultivating an image of not giving a shit."

He leans back a little on the couch, bringing me with him. "But you did?"

"I think if you'd have met me back then, you'd have thought I had my stuff together. I got good grades, I dated the popular guys, I played softball, I pissed off the nuns – and I went out of my way to act like I didn't care. I don't know. It just made me think about how I did the exact same thing as an adult. Not caring about being kicked out of med school, or about being a doctor, or about who I was dating…I just sort of wonder how much time and energy I'd have saved if somebody told me to cut the shit. Assuming I actually listened to them."

He's quiet for a few minutes, running his fingers up and down my arm. As he turns his head so his lips are touching my temple, he exhales, and I shiver. "I didn't have any of that together, either. I knew who I wanted to be with and that I wanted to be a doctor, but I still…I made a lot of mistakes. So did Danijela. She never said a word about it, and I was too much of an idiot to ask, but I know she wanted something for herself besides marrying me and having babies. She was smart. She could've gone to university, had a job, but I think she was afraid to tell me. Her father was so strict with her, I think she thought she had to have permission to have so much as a thought of her own.

I shift a little in his arms. "So that's it."

"What's it?"

"I always figured there must be some common thing between me and her that you were attracted to. Turns out, it's issues with our fathers."

"It is not." I can hear him suppress a chuckle.

"No, I mean, Danijela, me, Sam – did any of your other girlfriends have daddy issues? That French nurse?"

"Gillian? I forgot to ask. And you're not my girlfriend. You're my wife. There's a difference."

"Yeah, a ring I could really do some damage with in a fistfight."

He closes his hand over mine, over the ring. "Some other differences, too. And it was never your insecurities that attracted me to you. It was…other stuff."

"My emotional reclusiveness and intense vulnerability lying just under the cold, hard exoskeleton of an ice queen?"

"Uh…no."

"My catheterization skills?"

"No." He sits up. "Come on, I want to start dinner."

"Can I keep on guessing why you found me so irresistible?"

He glances at me over his shoulder as he heads to the kitchen. "I'd kind of hoped by now you wouldn't have to guess."

I'm quiet a minute, letting his comment settle. And I suppose he has a point – I do hope he knows why I love him, at least the reasons beyond the inexplicable part where I just love him because I do.

And, okay, so I make more than a few self-deprecating jokes about why he loves me, but it's just…what I do. Although maybe he's right, and maybe it bothers him, having to wonder if I get that he loves me. The thing is, though, I'm still not great with that whole trust thing. I've gotten better, a lot better, but it's still like a reflex, doubting him. I've gotten to the point of accepting that he loves me now, but I still have a hard time convincing myself that he'll still feel that way in five years, or ten, or however many.

Because it hasn't worked like that in the past. Everyone I've been with has fallen out of love with me at some point, and it's not like there weren't aggravating factors, but going on experience, it's hard to trust that he won't do the same. And it hasn't just been with relationships – there was a day that Eric just stopped needing me, or wanting my help, and as much as I understand why he didn't want my help dealing with a disease I didn't have, it still stung. Stings.

I think sometimes that if it hadn't been for the circumstances, if I hadn't gotten pregnant and had to confront that question of whether I was willing to take the risk of having a baby and for probably the first time in my life, being forced to choose between not getting hurt and taking that risk, that maybe I'd have done what I was used to, kept Luka at arm's length to keep from getting hurt, and maybe we wouldn't have stayed together. It's nice to think that it was meant to be and we'd have found each other no matter what, and I do think that the potential was always there, but in all truth, I don't know that I'd have had the guts to try if I hadn't been backed into a corner and forced to make a choice.

That whole thing about having a baby changing a person really holds up, in my case.

I follow him to the kitchen and slide my arms around his waist from behind him as he stands at the sink. "Sorry," I tell him quietly.

I feel his hand on my arm. "You don't have to be sorry."

"I am anyway. I know I don't always make it…easy."

He turns, and I move my arms to rest on his shoulders. "Easier than you think, maybe. It's a hell of a lot harder not to love you."

"You have a lot of experience with that?"

He shrugs. "Some."

I chew on my lip for a minute, trying to convince myself he's only joking around, trying not to let my insecurities run rampant. It doesn't work. "When?" I don't manage to make it sound as light as I'd hoped.

It seems to register what I'm asking, and he runs his hands along my arms, down and over my shoulders, down my waist, before letting them settle on my hips. "Not then." He sighs a little. "I wasn't…I didn't want to…then. That was…I got scared. I thought, I don't know, that confronting it would be too much for us. That it was better to let it sit. It was stupid to try to run away and hope that would make things better."

"I decide when you're stupid, not you." I play with the hair at the base of his head.

"Is that right?"

"Mmhmm."

He leans against the counter. "And?"

"Okay…so maybe it was a little stupid. But I think you were probably entitled given everything."

"I didn't want to stop loving you, Abby." He leans down and kisses my forehead softly, and leans his head against mine. "I knew better than to think I could."

* * *

><p>Saturday is Valentine's Day. I put up the pretense of resisting, but to be honest, I know Luka is looking forward to it, and I've gotten to a point where I sort of enjoy his occasional lapses into cheesy romance. Not because I like the holiday or because I like being spoiled, but because I know it makes him happy and that's kind of what counts.<p>

Besides, we didn't get to celebrate last year. And I know I would've preferred something cheesy and embarrassing to spending it alone, knowing I'd broken his heart and scared that it was beyond repair. I'm pretty happy to have been wrong about that.

I wake up on Saturday morning with his arm draped over my waist and his warm breath on my shoulder, and I can't stop from smiling as I roll over to face him. "Morning," I whisper.

"Morning." He kisses me gently. "I didn't mean to wake you."

I raise my eyebrows. "I hope that's not true. Otherwise, the whole heavy breathing thing is kind of creepy."

He bites his lip and smiles in that incredibly sexy way he has. "Creepy?"

"Well, I mean, it's a little…you know…that's how horror movies start."

"I see." He raises himself up on one elbow to lean over me. "So then, does that mean I'm supposed to take you as my willing victim now?"

I crane my neck to glance at the clock. "Probably not. Joe's going to be up any minute. I don't think we have time to reenact selected scenes from _Dracula_."

"Maybe he'll sleep in." He dips his head to kiss me again.

I reluctantly pull his hand out from where it was inching up my shirt. "I don't want to start something we can't finish."

He just raises his eyebrows a little. "How do you know we won't?"

"Because we're not that lucky."

"No?"

"No." I run my fingers through his hair. "Sorry, sailor."

"That's okay." He moves his mouth next to my ear. "You can make it up to me later."

"_I_ can make it up to _you_?"

"Mmhmm. When you've finished thanking me for dinner, I mean."

I give him a look. "Maybe I'll just pay for my half and you can make it up to _yourself_. On the couch."

His hand slides back under my shirt. I don't stop him, this time. "Maybe I'll give you something to thank me for now."

"Luka…"

I feel his fingers on my ribcage and his breath on my stomach. "The more you argue, the less time we have."

We seem to have switched genres all of a sudden, because this is definitely not out of a horror movie. And I'm losing the will to protest. Not that I really had it to begin with.

I feel his fingers graze my thigh and everything's starting to go a little fuzzy when, predictably, I hear Joe calling from down the hall.

I hear Luka swear softly from somewhere under the covers and I eye him as he reemerges, looking remorseful. "I really thought –"

"I'm going to kill you. You know that?"

"Sorry." He pulls on a shirt and fishes my pajama pants out from under the sheets and hands them to me. "If you wait ten minutes I can slip him something and we can finish – "

"Oh, shut up." I grab a pillow and hurl it at him. He just dodges it and grins. "I'll get him."

"Coffee?"

"What do you think?"

"I think…I'll go make coffee."

* * *

><p>We have reservations at eight, so I head upstairs at seven to shower and change. I'm washing my hair, contemplating whether to wear pants or a skirt with boots – just to torture Luka a little after this morning's letdown – and I guess I must be pretty distracted, because the next thing I know, I'm sort of sprawled in the tub and my head really fucking hurts.<p>

"Damn it." I touch my head. No blood. Just shampoo. I guess I'm lucky to have missed the faucet.

I haven't even gotten up before Luka comes running in. "What happened?"

"Gravity." I wince and reach out a hand. "I'm fine, just help me up."

"Don't move." He shuts off the water and kneels down beside the tub.

"Luka, I'm fine."

"You hit your head. I could hear it from downstairs."

"You probably heard the bottle of shaving cream I took out on my way down." I start to get up.

He stops me. "I heard both. Stay there."

"Luka – "

"Don't argue." He stands up and retrieves a pen light from the medicine cabinet.

"Could you at least hand me a towel?"

He retrieves my towel from the back of the door and lays it over me before shining the pen light in my eyes. "Do you know if you slipped?"

"I didn't faint, if that's what you're asking."

"How do you know? Hold still."

"I can't hold still and answer you at the same time."

"Then just hold still." He puts away the light and holds up his hand. "Follow my finger."

"I'll follow you anywhere."

He sighs. "Please just – "

"I'm following your finger, all right?"

He finishes his little evaluation and leans down to slip an arm around me. "You can get up. Slowly."

"I did pass my boards, thank you." I mean, sure, it took a couple of tries, but still.

"Then you should know I'm just doing my job."

"You mean as husband of the year?"

"As a doctor." He keeps his arm around me. "Here, lie down on the bed."

"You just – "

"Abby." His tone doesn't imply that he's going to back down on this.

"Fine. At least let me rinse the shampoo out of my hair and put on my robe, okay? Then you can administer an at-home MRI if you want."

He hesitates. "Sit down on the mat, I'll rinse your hair."

I open my mouth to tell him he's being ridiculous, and decide it's not worth it. I let him help me sit and he folds up another towel and lays it behind my head. "I feel like I'm getting my hair done."

"All part of the service here at Luka's Emergency Room and Hair Salon," he mumbles.

"Where's Joe?"

"He's downstairs."

"I know, I mean, he's probably redecorating the kitchen at this point. I can wait if you need to go downstairs."

"We were watching a basketball game. He probably hasn't moved."

"Great."

He holds his hand over my forehead and uses the sprayer to rinse my hair. "There's no story for him to follow. It's stimulating."

"You're so full of crap." I feel him run his fingers over my temple and behind my ear. "Not a bad hairdresser, though."

He shuts the water off. "Thanks. Here, hold onto me."

"I can walk just fine." I squeeze the water out of my hair.

"Hold onto me anyway."

I sigh, but I don't say anything as he practically carries me to the bed and props pillows behind me before helping me into my robe. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Do you remember falling?"

"I don't know. I was sort of focused on the part where I smacked my head."

"Abby." His voice reminds me of when he's warning Joe not to do something. He places his fingers on my carotid.

"No, I don't remember. I was standing up and the next thing I knew I wasn't."

"But you didn't faint."

"I was feeling perfectly fine prior to landing on my ass. No double vision, no palpitations, no dizziness – "

"Did you stand up suddenly?"

"I wasn't orthostatic. I was washing my hair."

"Were you leaning your head back?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, doctor, I'm sure." I purse my lips. "The water wasn't excessively hot, I wasn't pressing on my carotid artery, I'm not anxious, and I think it would be a pretty big impediment to being a doctor if I went vasovagal at the sight of blood."

"When's the last time you ate?"

"Lunch. Around one. I ate Joe's leftover grapes and one of his peanut butter crackers, and then I had some yogurt."

"How much – "

"About four hundred calories."

"There aren't that many calories in yogurt."

I roll my eyes. Bad plan. My head still hurts. "I put some M&Ms in it. There. You've caught me."

"Can you please just…you know I'm just asking what I'd ask a patient."

"Yes, but I can evaluate myself, and there's no reason to think it was a syncopal episode. I slipped. And just because I don't remember the way down doesn't mean I have a concussion."

"It doesn't mean you don't, either, and if you do, you can't evaluate yourself accurately." He runs his fingers over my arm. "You'd tell me the same thing if the situation was reversed."

"You have farther to fall. And I can feel your fingers on my arm, so my sensory system is fine."

"Close your eyes, please." I comply, and I feel his finger on my cheek. "How about – "

"Yes."

"And now?" He runs his finger over my other cheek.

"Yes."

"Now?"

"If your hand gets any higher on my leg, I'm going to have to report you for harassing a patient." I have to work at not smiling.

"Yes ma'am. You can open your eyes. How old are you?"

"Thirty-nine and two halves."

"Funny. What time is it?"

"Between seven and time for you to take me to dinner." I eye him. "At eight. And to answer your other questions, it's 2009, we're at home, I recognize you, and I'm sure if Joe were here, I'd recognize him too. My birthday is January tenth, World War I started in 1914, the president is – "

"Okay, I get it."

"Want me to do serial sevens, too?"

"That's okay, thank you." He shakes his head. "Stand up, please."

"Are you using BESS or Romberg?"

"I'll let you pick."

"I can't stand on one foot, anyway." I stand in front of him, hold my hands at my sides, and close my eyes. About a half a second later, I can feel my robe begin to slip. "Oh, come on."

"I didn't do anything. Don't move your arms."

I can feel the front of my robe open now. "You totally suck."

"No talking during the test." I can practically hear the smile on his face.

"You better not pull this with your other patients."

"My other patients don't wear sexy robes that slip open on their own." I feel his hand brush against my stomach. "You're cleared. For now."

I redo the tie on my robe. "You're going to give me a follow up?"

"In an hour."

"That'll be sort of awkward in the restaurant." I walk to the dresser and begin pulling out clothes.

"We'll go out tomorrow." I feel him lay his hand on the small of my back. "I'm going to call the sitter and cancel."

"Luka – "

"Abby." He looks at me seriously. "I'm not messing around. Or trying to annoy you. I'm just – "

"I know." I hold up my hands. "I get it. Okay? You're doing your job."

"Lie down and I'll bring you an ice pack and a Chinese menu."

I look up at him. In all honesty, my head does still hurt like hell. And as much as I hate being treated like a patient, I know he's right, that I'd do the same thing if it was him who hit his head. "Why don't you and Joe watch your game up here?"

"We can watch something else."

"I was kind of hoping to see some other people fall down and hit their heads so I feel better about myself."

He leans down and I tilt my head back to kiss him, and stop. "Okay, that actually does hurt."

"Sorry." He crouches so that his head is level with mine. "Better?"

"I hope that wasn't your way of making me realize I need to lie down."

"I'd never do something that sneaky." He kisses me. "I hope this wasn't your way of getting out of going to dinner."

"If I wanted to get out of dinner that badly, I'd have just hit _you_ on the head."

"I see. Go lie down."

"Go get me my ice and my menu. And Joe, if you can peel him away from the television."

"Anything else?"

"Glass of iced tea?"

He nods. "Sure."

"Thank you, Dr. Kovač."

* * *

><p>We end up watching some documentary about jungle animals, which has enough monkeys and leopards to hold Joe's attention and few enough snakes that I don't mind. Once he's fallen asleep, Luka takes Joe to bed, and I reclaim the pillow that was mine before a certain someone decided that sharing was too much of a hassle.<p>

I wince as I move my head onto the pillow. Still sore. No nausea, though, and as far as I know, I'm not confused, so at least I seem to have avoided a concussion. Not that Luka won't reevaluate me before I fall asleep. And when I wake up.

As much as it drives me nuts when he overreacts, I do have to admit that there's something sweet about it. About having someone who cares about me enough to be just a little irrational. I'd rather have that than not.

I can't help thinking about seven years ago, and the reaction he had when Brian hit me, and I think maybe I'd needed the reassurance during our relationship that I meant enough to him that he'd get protective or jealous or whatever else. It wasn't until we'd broken up that he started to act that way – not that he hadn't done things to show me he cared about me before, but I guess maybe it was the involuntary stuff, the stuff that showed he couldn't _stop_ caring about me, that made me realize I meant something to him beyond a warm body at night. And I don't think it was that he didn't care about me when we were together, but I guess maybe it was too hard for him to let himself feel like that then. I think maybe when it was coming from a place of regret or of pain that it was more comfortable, more natural for him.

And I think maybe it was easier for me to accept that, the fact that he did care about me and was willing to be there for me when I needed him, even with the things we'd said to each other, once we weren't together. I think that was when I actually let my guard down, and was able to realize that I didn't actually have to hide from him. That I could trust him.

He comes back from putting Joe to bed and just looks at me for a minute, this little smile playing on his face. I don't even realize I'm looking back at him with the same sort of smile until he shrugs his shoulders a little. "What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking." I bite my lip.

He lays down beside me. "I have a penny if you want to share."

I smile again. "I was sort of…I guess I was thinking that I never thanked you for, you know…taking care of me. Not just tonight. I mean…before. When you let me stay on your couch. I never thanked you, you know…properly."

His hand brushes over mine. "You did."

"No, I mean, not just – I mean I never thanked you for…you were really good to me. Not just letting me stay there, I mean how…you said how you wanted to kiss me, that night we were talking, and I guess I mean, thank you for just being a friend to me then. Even though I probably wouldn't have minded if you'd kissed me. But you didn't, and you know, I didn't really have anybody else to go to, and even though we weren't together, you…you know."

"You don't have to thank me for being your friend, Abby."

"Well, I want to anyway."

He rolls onto his side. "Okay, then thank you for being mine, too. Even when I was a jerk."

"You're welcome."

"Thanks for being other things, too."

"Other things?"

"You know. Not…_just_ friends."

"Oh, that." I flash on that night, in the ambulance bay at County, both of us kind of fumbling around for a way to move forward after the night we'd spent together, and how, even with all the chaos and the sadness of the crash, throughout the whole thing I'd felt this sort of buzz of excitement and anticipation. And how every time I'd looked at Luka through that whole night, it was like a surge of adrenaline.

And how I'd done what I always did, taken the coward's way instead of telling him how I really felt, because he might not have felt the same way and I didn't want to risk getting hurt. Although looking back, I don't know how the hell I thought that was possible after what had happened the night before, and the way he'd kissed me and held me and that I knew damn well what he'd whispered after we made love the first time and what it meant in English.

"I do kind of like it better, being more than friends." I curl my fingers around his.

"It does make things less complicated."

I glance at him. "How do you figure?"

"Hard to be friends with somebody you're in love with."

It sort of clicks, what he was talking about yesterday. About trying not to love me. He's never come out and said it, but in retrospect, I don't think he has to.

"Come here." I turn my head a little, not so much that it hurts, but enough to see him. He shifts closer to me, and just kind of lets his lips graze mine, no pressure, literally or figuratively. I slide one hand over his jaw, letting the stubble tickle my palm, and pull him in a little.

He draws back after a minute, though not much. "What was that for?"

"Seven years ago." I shrug a little. "You didn't kiss me then. So I thought…it was time to go ahead and fix that."


	22. Wake Up

**"Wake Up"**

Over the years, I've gotten used to waking up with Luka when he has nightmares. I've learned to sleep through his tossing and turning, figured out how to respond so he'll stop panicking, all of it. After we went to Vukovar, he had a couple of bad weeks, but since then, nothing. No thrashing around in his sleep, no murmuring for help, no waking up to find him sweating bullets – and it's a relief. I wasn't sure if things would be easier for him after we went there, and I wasn't surprised when he had nightmares those first few weeks back home, but it's been more than a month now. And nothing.

Except now I'm being woken up in the middle of the night by somebody else's nightmares. It just happens one night, and I bolt up in bed to the sound of Joe crying so loudly that it terrifies me. I'm expecting something awful when I rush into his room, and almost trip over the baby gate, but nothing's there besides Joe, tangled up in his sheets and sobbing hysterically. I pick him up and he clings to me so hard that I have to shift his arm a little just to breathe.

I don't have to ask what it is. I'm pretty much an expert in nightmares by now. Besides, the recognition on Luka's face doesn't leave a whole lot of room for uncertainty.

It takes both of us to calm Joe down, although he won't let go of me the whole time, and after an hour of him refusing to let me put him down, let alone leave the room, I cave. Luka gives me a look but doesn't argue as we settle back into bed, Joe still holding onto me like a magnet, and eventually he stops shaking and relaxes a little, and a little while later I hear his breathing slow down and I manage to move him just enough that I'm almost comfortable.

It happens three more times that week. Every time, the same thing, and every time, it ends with him sleeping in our bed, practically strangling me. It's strange, because he's never had much of a preference when it comes to me or Luka, at least not since Luka came home, but with this, he doesn't want Luka to hold him. Only me. I'd be touched if it weren't for the sleep deprivation and the fact that I have no idea how to fix what's wrong.

The fifth time it happens, Luka puts his foot down. No more sleeping in our bed. He doesn't want it to be a routine, and neither do I, except that I don't know what else to do because every time I try to put Joe down, he screams bloody murder.

After forty-five minutes, Luka gives up and says he's going to bed. "He doesn't want me and I can't make you put him down, so – "

"I _can't_ put him down," I whisper.

"He's two, Abby. He's not going to overpower you."

"Well, obviously, but – " I don't finish, just watch him step over the baby gate and walk away. Great. "That was mature," I murmur. Joe snuggles his head against me and makes a little whimpering noise.

I try two more times to put him down, walk around with him until he's asleep, but even then, as soon as I'm more than six inches from him, he wakes up and starts crying all over again. I end up sleeping on his bed with him still hanging onto me, and I wake up with a sore back from having to scrunch myself up to fit. Joe's curled against me, asleep, and I sort of inch myself away in slow motion, until I can stand up and tiptoe out to the hallway.

It's getting light out, and the bedroom is empty. I find Luka downstairs, drinking coffee and reading the paper. "Hi."

He looks up. "Hi."

I pour myself a cup of coffee. "He's asleep."

"I, um…I'm sorry about last night. I was frustrated. And tired. I shouldn't have…you know."

I shrug. "You were right, though. He didn't want you. It's fine."

"I still should have stayed up with you."

"Why, so all three of us could be tired and bitchy?"

He catches my hand as I round the table and pulls me toward him until he can wrap his arms around my waist. His head is resting against my stomach. I can't help but think about how he used to do that when I was pregnant, lay his head against my belly and whisper in Croatian. We used to fall asleep like that some nights, his head on my stomach, and when it got too big, on my chest, and his hand right there, waiting to feel Joe kick. And it was sweet, but there was a part of me that couldn't help but wonder if he loved me, or just loved the idea of being a father again.

Sometimes I wish I could go back and do it over again without all that insecurity and fear hanging over me. Fall asleep with his head on my stomach, knowing he loved me with or without a baby.

I set my coffee down and run my fingers through his hair, the way I used to when he was whispering to Joe. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He tilts his head up just enough to catch my eye. "Even if I couldn't do anything, I owe you about a hundred nights that you stayed up with me."

"Well, that's true." I smile a little. "You know, my back's a little sore from sleeping in that rocket ship."

He lets go of me and stands up. "Sit."

I rest my head on my arms as he stands behind me, kneading my shoulders. "So aside from a lot of coffee, what do we do?"

"I don't know." He brushes my hair off my neck and begins tracing my spine with his thumb. "Maybe get rid of the panda?"

"I don't think that's going to solve the problem. He's not having nightmares about pandas."

"I just thought it might make it easier for you to go in there at night. So both of you don't end up panicking."

"Oh…bite me."

"Remind me later and I will."

I laugh a little. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"I should call Jelena and see if she can watch Joe. He'd probably be an unholy terror if we sent him to playgroup today."

"I can do it. Go back to bed for a little while. I can wake you up." His fingers press into the dip between my ribs and slide along a horizontal plane until he reaches the seam of my top.

"I have, like, fifteen minutes before I need to get ready. It takes me longer than that just to get upstairs at this hour."

He shrugs. "So use the couch."

I sigh and stand up, rolling my neck a little. "Thanks."

"Sure. I'll wake you in a little bit."

"I meant thanks for the massage." I hold out my hand. "Forget it. Just set your watch. The couch is big enough for both of us."

* * *

><p>I wake up to the beeping of his watch alarm and feel him shift a little. "Mmm."<p>

"Snooze button," he mutters. I touch the little knob on the side of his watch and let my hand rest over his. He turns his palm over and twines our fingers together, tightening his hold on me. I can feel my willpower wavering and calling in sick is starting to sound really appealing. I love my job and all, but compared to drifting off on the couch with Luka spooned against me, breathing softly, it's not even close.

I used to think it was my fault he started having nightmares. He didn't have them at first, when we were together, but around the time I started trying to talk to him about it – about his past – was when they began.

It was sort of the apex of our relationship, right there, lying in bed with him. Asking her name. Him telling me. It was this kind of intimacy we hadn't really gotten into before, that I hadn't gotten into with…anyone, I think. And I'd been scared by the way I felt about him that first morning we woke up together, but this was – it sort of overwhelmed me. Realizing that this could be something more than it already was, more than just comfort or companionship or sex. I could love him. And I think I was starting to, which terrified me, because the last time I'd fallen in love with someone, it had ended in complete disaster, and Luka was…he had this past that was always with him, haunting him, and it seemed inevitable that it would end in disaster again. But the thing was, what I felt for him, I didn't want it to shut off because it felt good. When he'd hold me at night, when we'd make love, when he'd glance at me across the ER and just sort of connect, it kind of cut through the fog that I'd been living in for I don't even know how long.

And then a couple days later, the nightmares started. He'd had a couple since we'd been together, but not like that, not where he was still living it after he woke up. For a long time, I didn't know if it had been my fault for asking about his wife, for opening that wound up, or if it was something else. But I stopped asking after that. He had nightmares, anyway, but I was afraid to push him further, so I'd just hold him and wait for him to stop shaking and start kissing me. Not every time, but almost. Sometimes he'd take his time, touching me and whispering my name, and sometimes it was more desperate and impatient. Every time, though, it ended the same way, and that was when I felt it the most, that he was still married to her and maybe whispering my name was the only way he could stop himself from whispering hers.

When we were together again, the first time he had a nightmare, we kind of instinctively fell back into our old routine, but then he stopped kissing me and almost symbolically, handed me my shirt back with this little smile and that was that. I held him for a while, stroking his hair, until we fell asleep, and the next time, he didn't try to kiss me, just laid his head on my chest and wrapped his arm around my waist. And after a little while, he told me about his dream.

We ended up making love after that, anyway, but it was different from before. Just the two of us, and I knew he wasn't making love to anyone but me.

The next day I took the pregnancy test I'd been avoiding for a week and it hit me all at once, sitting in my bathroom staring at that little blue strip, how different it was this time and at the same time, the same, because I had to face the prospect of having something I wanted so badly and the inevitability of hurting him and getting hurt myself.

When I wake up again, it's not to the watch alarm. I'm confused for a minute, and then lift Luka's wrist a little to check the time. "Shit."

"What?" He yawns.

"We overslept. I must've hit the wrong button. I was supposed to be at work half an hour ago."

"Okay." He shifts into a sitting position and rubs his eyes. "It's okay, we'll just both be a little late."

I start heading upstairs, and he follows me. "You can still be there on time, you don't have to be in until nine."

"Better we're both a little late than you even later. I'll call Jelena while you shower."

I don't argue. Mostly because it's pointless, but also because Cavanaugh is on this morning and it'll be bad enough being an hour and a half late. I'm not exactly eager to make it two hours. "Thanks." He catches my eye as I pull my shirt over my head. "What?"

"I really am sorry. I should have stayed up."

"It's okay." I know what he means though, and why he's apologizing again. He gets it. How he said we'd do this together, and it scared the hell out of me when he broke that promise. And how, when he told me on Christmas Eve that he wouldn't forget the promises he made when we got married, it was also him telling me that I wouldn't have to do it alone, no matter what happened.

He starts to turn around. "Luka."

"Yeah?"

I hold his gaze. "We'll have more nights."

* * *

><p>"Morning, sunshine."<p>

I yawn and lift my head from where it was resting on the back of an overstuffed chair. "I was this close to a nap, you know."

Jill shrugs a little. "Sorry. Want me to leave?"

"No, it's fine. If I actually did fall asleep, I probably wouldn't wake up until the shop closed and they threw me out."

"Worse places to be thrown out of at closing time. Trust me. Coffee?"

I hold up a cup. "Way ahead of you."

"Okay, then. Try not to pass out while I get mine."

"I'm not making any promises." I do manage to stay awake until Jill comes back to where I'm sitting with a cardboard coffee cup and a scone. She holds out the scone. "I'm good, thanks. I have a plate of leftovers waiting for me at home."

"So, what's been going on? Another plague hit the hospital?"

"No. Joe's started having nightmares. He's only slept through the night twice this week, and I'm the only one he wants to hold him when it happens."

Jill takes a sip of her coffee. "That sucks. My niece used to have nightmares. Or night terrors - I guess there's a difference. I don't know. My sister threatened to drop her off on my doorstep a couple times."

"See, a week ago, I'd have thought you were kidding."

"Nope. I even tried babysitting one night while they went to a hotel and I ended up having to call them to come home because she wouldn't stop screaming."

"Did they?"

"My sister did. Her husband didn't even wake up when the phone rang, apparently."

"Nice."

"Mmhmm."

"We had a similar issue last night. Although Luka apologized this morning and knows he's on the hook for it."

Jill shakes her head. "Your husband is a fucking mystery of the universe."

I laugh. "What do you mean?"

"Men are not that well-behaved in the wild. I don't know where you got him from, but scientists should be studying him."

"Don't worry. He has enough of his own shit to compensate. Otherwise I don't think he'd put up with all of mine."

"Fair enough. How about the other kid?"

"Caroline?"

"Unless you have another child you're not telling me about."

"No, just Joe. Caroline's...it's hard to know how to help her when she doesn't know what's upsetting her at any given moment. She keeps saying she wants to go to jail."

"I'm guessing you've told her that won't make her feel any better?"

"About ten thousand times." I sip my coffee. "She's obsessed with figuring out what happened, which also won't help anything."

"What do you mean?"

"At the trial, her sister testified that she tried to drive home herself and Caroline took the keys from her. And that she'd threatened to walk home if Caroline didn't drive her. So basically, that it was her fault. Which combined with the fact that Caroline tore the shit out of her knee and won't be walking anytime soon kept her out of jail." I shift in the chair. "Except I don't think either of them know what actually happened. Or that they'll ever remember, given everything. And I don't think Caroline believes her sister's story."

"So she's torturing herself."

"And she won't talk about anything besides wanting to know what happened, wanting to go to jail, and how much she hates herself."

"How are you doing with that?"

"Me? Okay. It's frustrating, but I kind of understand how she feels. I mean, given everything with Luka..."

"You mean last year?"

"No, I mean with his family."

"Oh."

"I mean...I guess last year, too. I haven't really thought about it. I guess maybe there's a parallel."

"You guess?"

I chew on my lip for a minute. "Okay, so...maybe there is."

"You drove drunk. With Joe in the car. You're telling me you haven't been thinking about that at all?"

I don't say anything. I know she's right, that I'm avoiding it, because the parallel is definitely there. Eventually I shrug. "I don't want to think about it. About what might've happened."

"You said Joe only wants you in the middle of the night. So clearly, he trusts you to keep him safe. You screwed up when you were drinking. Now you're not drinking."

"Doesn't mean I won't, someday."

"It does if you make the decision every day not to. And to ask for help if you don't trust yourself to make the right decision."

"Yeah." I play with my empty coffee cup. "I know it's stupid, but I keep thinking about what if what's giving him nightmares is my fault. I used to have this one nightmare, over and over, about losing him. Not like in a department store, I mean - you know."

Jill nods. "It's not that uncommon."

"I know. I just - it's always reliving the day he was born. All of the most terrifying moments of it. And I have to wonder if even though he's only two, if he has a memory of when I was drinking, like if he could tell he wasn't safe with me then, and if that's what he's reliving."

She pauses and seems to be thinking of something to say. After a minute, she shrugs one shoulder. "I don't know. You're the one with the MD, not me, but I think it's pretty unlikely."

"Yeah. I don't know, I keep having to talk myself out of being that crazy, neurotic parent. It's just hard when I work in a building with actual experts on the subject."

"I don't think it's a big deal if you ask somebody. I mean, you work with them, it's not like you're wandering in from the street."

"They don't know that. I could just be some crazy person with a white coat."

Jill laughs. "True."

"I'm really just hoping I have an excuse to call for a consult from sleep medicine. Then, you know, drop it into the conversation."

"Is this your way of asking me to come in pretending to be a narcoleptic?"

I shrug. "I mean, if you're offering..."

"I don't think you want to bet your professional reputation on my acting abilities. My stage debut as a tree in second grade marked the lowest point for the arts since John Wilkes Booth."

"That's pretty bad."

"You should talk to her about it." Jill glances at me pointedly. "To Caroline. I think it might actually help you both."

"Is that a suggestion for helping her or for my own benefit?"

"Little of both. I'm not a shrink. I just think it might be good."

"Got any suggestions for getting Joe to sleep through the night while you're at it?"

She drains her coffee. "Nope. You're on your own for that one."

I feel my phone vibrate in my coat pocket and instinctively know it's Luka, asking if I'm on my way. "Lucky for me, I'm not."

* * *

><p>"You didn't answer my text."<p>

I sit down on the stairs to take off my shoes. "Hello to you, too."

"Hi. Sorry. I was just – "

"I got it a couple minutes before I left and I didn't want to answer while we were still talking. I forgot about it until I was already in the car. And I seem to recall you threatening to take my phone away the last time I tried to send a text while I was driving."

He shoves his hands in his pockets. "Okay. It's not…I didn't mean to sound…"

"What's going on?" I stand up and move to stand in front of him. He opens his mouth a little but doesn't say anything. I touch his arm. "Luka?"

"We, uh – " He bites his lip. "Let's sit on the couch."

"Okay…" I follow him into the living room and sit. He hesitates a second before sitting down, facing me. "Okay, you're scaring the crap out of me."

"Your mom called a little while ago." I can tell from his expression that he already knows how loaded that statement is. "She's fine. So is Eric."

"Then what – "

"Your father died." I sit there for a minute, just looking at him, not saying a word. Not because I'm shocked or upset or whatever else, but because I have absolutely no idea what to think of that, let alone how to react. Whatever emotional response is supposed to be there just isn't happening. After a minute, Luka reaches out and takes my hand. "Your mom thought it would be better for me to tell you than for her to do it."

"No…yeah, that's – it's fine. I mean, for you to tell me. Although I don't really think it's fair for her to put that on you."

"I don't mind."

I give him a look. "Don't do that. Of course you mind, it's a crappy thing to have to do. Besides – "

"Abby. Really, I don't mind."

"Well, I do." I reach up and undo the elastic in my hair. "It's typical Maggie. She manipulates people into doing things so she doesn't have to."

"I don't think that's what she was doing. She was upset. I think she just wanted to make it easier for you."

"That's not her decision to make."

"Just…forget about that part. Okay?"

I shrug. "Okay."

"The funeral is on Sunday. Your mom and you brother are both going to go."

"She's dragging Eric with her?"

"I don't know. She just said they were going."

"And she wants me to go." I glance at him. "Right?"

"She said she hoped you would. Listen, I can take off Monday if you want – "

"I'm not going to the funeral." I stand up and start walking to the kitchen. "I can't leave Joe while he's having nightmares, and there's no way I'm dragging him to Texas so he can freak out when he wakes up on a hotel cot."

He leans against the counter, watching me as I take a plate of leftovers from the fridge and stick it in the microwave. "He'll be okay for a night or two."

"You don't know that. And I don't want to take the risk. I'm not going to mark the death of a man who abandoned me when I was seven by traumatizing my own child."

"It's not the same thing, Abby." He reaches out and catches my arm, pulling me toward him. "Look, you don't have to go. It's your decision and whatever you want to do…I'll support it. But don't use Joe as a reason. It's not about him."

"Of course it's about him. I don't want to be the sort of parent to him that Eddie was to me and Eric. I've screwed up at being his mother enough times. If I have the choice between going to stand there awkwardly at a funeral for a man who didn't give a shit about me for thirty years and staying here with Joe because I _do_ give a shit, which one do you think I'm going to pick?"

He looks down at me for a long time, not saying anything, not letting go of my arm, even when the microwave beeps. Eventually he pulls me into his arms and rests his head on mine. "You haven't screwed up at being his mother."

"Maybe not, you know, overall, but there are enough times I just wish I could change – "

"Every parent makes mistakes. I wish I could take back leaving you both for so long and not…not thinking about what that would be like for you."

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"Well, it's what I'm talking about. You're a good mother to him. Why do you think he only wants you when he wakes up at night?"

"Probably a combination of biological response and the fact that I'm more of a pushover than you."

"It's not. He wants you because that's when he feels safest. Not with me. God Abby, I still remember you screaming at me in the OR to go with him instead of staying with you." He tightens his hold on me. "You're a good mother. You'll still be a good mother if you go to your father's funeral, and Joe's not going to care about waking up in a hotel if you're right there with him."

I slide my arms around his waist and close my eyes for a minute, and it occurs to me, not for the first time, that part of why I can't forgive Eddie is because I know whatever problems he and Maggie had, he hadn't lost two children and a wife before us or been through war – never mind two wars – but Luka has, and he's faced my being an alcoholic, and he'd never consider doing what Eddie did. No matter what.

Eventually I let go of him and move to push the button on the microwave again. "I don't want to leave him. And I don't want to drag him to Texas. It's not – I know Maggie's going to make a whole big thing out of it, but I said goodbye to him a long time ago."

"Okay," he says softly. "If you change your mind, we can figure it out. If you don't…like I said. I'll support it."

"Thank you."

"And you know if you want to talk about it – "

I take my plate and set it down at the table. Before I've even taken a step toward the kitchen, he takes a glass from the cabinet and a bottle of seltzer from the fridge and hands them to me. "Thanks. And…thanks. I do know."

"Okay." He takes a piece of zucchini from my plate.

"Hey. Steal one of the vegetables I don't actually like."

"That's most vegetables." He reaches out again and I move my plate away.

"Exactly. You have plenty of them in the fridge."

He looks at me and raises his eyebrows a little. "Please?"

"That's so cheap." I move my plate back within his reach. "I think you let Joe inherit that look just so it would be even harder for me to say no."

"You could never say no to me. Even before Joe."

"I think it's actually not being able to say no to you that made Joe happen in the first place."

"Maybe that was my plan all along."

"Making it so impossible to say no that I got pregnant pretty much three seconds after you kissed me?"

He rests his head on his hand. "Maybe I knew that was what you wanted even before you did."

* * *

><p>"Are you awake?"<p>

He grunts softly and rolls over to face me. "A little."

"Sorry, I – "

"It's okay." He yawns. "What is it?"

"It's just…" I shift around a little, trying to get comfortable. Or as comfortable as I can be while having this conversation. "Do you think I should go?"

"Mmm…go where?" he asks sleepily.

"Never mind. Go to sleep."

I feel his hand on my waist, keeping me from rolling over. "No, I'm – I'm awake. Go where?"

"To the funeral."

His eyes flutter open. "I told you I'd support whatever you did."

"I know. I'm asking what you think, though." I reach out and brush my fingers through his hair.

"I think…" He sighs.

"I promise I'm not going to get all pissy and defensive. I asked you."

He nods a little. "I think you might regret it if you don't. Maybe not now, but someday. I think as much as you don't want to now, you might end up feeling worse if you don't." I'm quiet for a few minutes, and he reaches up to take my hand and squeeze it. "I'll be there with you."

"No." I roll onto my back.

"No to what?"

"No, you won't be there with me. You can't. Joe's better off here, with you."

"Abby – "

"I meant what I said earlier. I'm not going to make things hard for him. Even if I won't be here, he'll be more comfortable in his own bed, and he'll be all right if you're here." I turn my head to look at him. "You know I'm right about this."

"I don't want you to have to go alone."

"I don't want to go alone, either, but I'll manage. And it's not like I'll be totally alone. I'll have…Maggie. And Eric."

"And that's not supposed to worry me?" He's smiling a little, but I know what he's thinking.

"I'm not going to drink if it gets hard. I'll have the constant reminder of why I don't want to be a crappy parent." I reach out and take his hand. "And I'll be able to call you, because you'll have your cell phone glued to your forehead."

"Can I use tape?"

"No. If you roll over in your sleep it could fall off. I want it stuck on there with Durabond, so it won't come off in the shower."

"How about on my hand? Then I can use it to send you naughty pictures to cheer you up."

I move closer to him, and he wraps his arms around me. "Okay. But it better be some really x-rated stuff if it's going to cheer me up."

"You want to take the pictures now so you can be sure you like them?"

I laugh a little. "I want the element of surprise."

"Hmm. Okay." He kisses my head. "You want to at least show me what parts you want pictures of so I don't get confused?"

"I think you know the parts I'm talking about."

"Can't hurt to make sure."

"It can if you keep trying to get me to feel you up when I'm this tired."

"In the morning, then." He tightens his hold on me. "I'm going to miss you."

"We can make up for that. On Friday or something. And then again when I get home."

He chuckles. "I'll miss you in other ways, too. It'll be lonely in bed."

"I'm sure Joe would be happy to keep you company."

"He's going to know, won't he? That I don't know what to do if you're not here."

"Probably. He's my son. He knows how to win you over."

He's quiet again, and I just rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "You're a good mom, Abby," he whispers.

The way he says it – there's something there. Maybe he did know, all along, what I wanted. Even if I didn't. "Thank you."


	23. Daughter

A/N: Ugh. So sorry for the long wait. This chapter is about the length of two chapters, though, so pretend it is two chapters and one of them counts for two months ago. Thanks. Also, I will finish this story. It's not being abandoned, ever. It just takes me a long time to write things I'm content with. So short of my being abducted by aliens or my jaywalking habit catching up to me, just assume it's going to be updated eventually. I'll try to make it speedier this time, though.

A note for this chapter - I don't always cast actors in my head when I write OCs, but in this chapter, the mental casting happened before the story even took form. All the actors I cast in my head for my OCs come from within the Wellsverse, so I feel like it's fair game and not just fantasy casting. I mean, basically every actor I like lives in the Wellsverse, but that's just coincidental. Sort of. Anyway, if it helps to have context when reading, shoot me a PM and I'll let you know who to imagine in those roles. I don't want to spoil it for people who prefer amorphous blob characters, so I'll just give the enigmatic hint that one of the characters retains her given Wellsverse name. The other two come from the same show. If anyone correctly guesses all three, I'll name a character after you. Yes, this is my way of whoring for comments. In a perfect world (which, incidentally, Wellsverse totally would be), I'd get a bunch of constructive feedback from people who haven't commented in ages whose witty remarks I miss, but I'll take what I can get.

* * *

><p><strong>"Daughter"<strong>

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the departures gate is that way." I gesture out the window.

"The garage is this way."

"Luka…" I should probably be annoyed with him, but it's not all that easy. "You don't have to park. You can just drop me off at the gate."

"I know that."

"It's a day and a half. It's not a big deal."

He reaches over and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. "I know that, too."

I turn my head and look at him for a minute. "You know, it really pisses me off that I love you enough to find wasting twelve bucks just to walk me inside sort of sweet."

He grins a little. "Sorry."

"Yeah, well, you should be." I brush my free hand over his knuckles. "I should've packed a bunch of bricks in a suitcase and made you carry it."

"You think they'd let you through security with it?"

"Well, I wouldn't bring it with me. It'd just be your punishment."

"I see." We don't say anything else as he parks the car and takes my bag from the trunk. He nods toward the airport. "Coming?"

"You know, I think maybe I changed my mind. Want to go to Paris for the weekend?"

He drapes his arm around my shoulders and steers me toward the elevators. "I don't have my passport with me. And the international terminal is going to be a long walk."

"I guess that's a good point. We'll have to pick something domestic. I hear San Fransisco's nice."

"What about Joe?"

"It's fine, we'll send him a postcard."

"Uh, I was sort of talking about what we'd do with him."

"We'll give the sitter a nice tip."

"Ah." He adjusts the bag on his shoulder as we wait for the elevator. "I didn't bring a change of clothes or anything."

"I'm willing to accept you being naked for most of the trip."

He looks down at me, and his expression changes. "You don't have to do this alone. I can go home, pick up Joe – "

"Luka." I purse my lips. "He needs to be here."

"I know," he murmurs.

The elevator door slides open and I take his hand, lacing our fingers together as I pull him along. "Thank you. For asking, I mean. I know…" I feel his thumb rub mine. "I just…thank you."

We don't say much else as we head into the airport, and he waits with me and holds my bag as I check in and doesn't let go of my hand until I have to hand over my driver's license. "Are you checking in together?" The attendant smiles at Luka.

"Oh, no – I'm just – she's the only one," Luka sort of mumbles.

I wait until I have my boarding pass and we're out of earshot. "I'm the only one, huh?"

He looks confused for a moment, and then it registers on his face, and he smiles just the tiniest bit before taking my hand again and bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the backs of my fingers. "Always."

* * *

><p>The one real advantage of Joe's nightmares is that I'm tired enough to sleep through most of the flight. I actually sleep through the announcement, but as soon as the plane starts descending, the baby three seats behind me starts crying, and I wake up with this sort of fleeting panic before my senses kick in to remind me that Joe's not here. The guy in the seat next to me mutters something about "damn kids" and I have to restrain myself from explaining to him that the kid is just crying because the cabin pressure is dropping and it hurts his ears, and to shut the hell up before I hit him with the magazine in the seat pocket.<p>

I really have no idea when I turned into the sort of person who would do that.

As we're getting off the plane, I catch sight of the baby and give him a little wave. He just sort of looks at me suspiciously, until I wave again, and he breaks into a grin. It hits me right then that the last time I was away from both Luka and Joe at once was right after I got out of rehab. It had been a month since I'd seen either of them, then, and now, here I am, and I haven't seen Joe in six hours and already miss him so much it hurts.

It's strange how you miss people you love even though you're barely even away from them. I'm at work for ten hours at a time without seeing Luka or Joe, and here, it's been barely half that and somehow it feels different. I guess it is different, the physical distance, and knowing I won't see them tonight, but still, it's completely irrational.

I get myself a coffee once we've made it out to the terminal and it makes me feel a little better. At least enough to stop feeling sorry for myself and like I might actually survive the next twenty-four hours.

The minute I'm past security, I see Eric, and somehow even though I've always known how tall he was, and even though Luka's taller, I feel like he wasn't that big last time I saw him. He grins at me and holds open his arms.

I don't realize how hard I'm hugging him until he starts prying my arms off him. "Hey, ease up. When did you get all touchy-feely?"

"Shut up. I haven't seen you in forever." I hug him again.

"You're weird like this."

"Shut up, okay?"

"That's not a very nice way to talk to your baby brother."

"Well, tell Mom on me." I glance up at him. "Where is she, anyway?"

He takes the coffee cup from my hand. "Thanks, I could use a coffee. She's in the car. I locked her in the trunk."

"Come on. Give me my coffee back, you can get your own."

He holds the cup over his head. "No. It's mine now. That's what little brothers are for. To take your stuff."

"You're not little and I want my fucking coffee back. Seriously, where's Maggie?"

He relents and gives me back the cup. "I told you. In the car. You know Mom, that's as far into the airport as she was willing to go."

"So much for conquering her fear of flying."

"She was getting closer." He rubs his forehead. "Then I accidentally let her watch that movie where Tom Hanks crash lands on an island with a volleyball."

"Why would you do that?"

He shrugs. "She's mom. I can't watch her all the time. I tried putting parental controls on the TV but I guess that's not how it's supposed to work. The parents figure it out too easy."

"See, I know you didn't actually do that, because she can barely work a television remote. I don't have any bags, by the way, so we don't have to stand here."

"I live five minutes from the woman and I just spent about a month on a bus with her. You have a bag." He takes the coffee cup from me again and takes a sip. "The airline lost it."

I glance up at him and smile a little. "Yeah, okay. Come on. I'll buy you your own coffee."

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

"It's me."

I can hear him let out a little breath. "Hey. I was starting to think you made them turn the plane around."

"I thought about it, but no. I'd have called sooner, but Eric was helping me try to find my lost luggage."

"Your lost - you didn't have a - "

"I know. I felt bad, my mom had to wait for us in the car the whole time."

"I don't - "

"Good thing I have enough in my carry-on to get by."

"I - oh. _Oh_. Your mom had to wait in the car for you."

"Mmhmm."

He laughs a little. "Where are you calling from, anyway? Are you at the hotel?"

"It's Maggie's phone. She's looking at pictures of Joe on mine, so it was this or try to pry her away from it, and I was worried she'd have pushed me out of the car before she gave up the phone." From the back seat, I hear Maggie murmur something, but she doesn't look up from the phone.

"Well, at least that should keep the peace."

"Yeah, just don't worry about sending…you know…more pictures."

"More pictures?"

"Durabond."

It takes him a minute. "Right. That. Okay, none of that."

"Unless I ask, of course."

"Of course." He pauses. "So…is it okay?"

"Is what okay?"

"You. Are you okay? I mean, I know you just got there, I'm just…checking."

"Yeah. I am. Thanks for checking."

"Joe's napping, or I'd put him on."

"It's okay. I'll call from the hotel tonight. I'm sure Maggie will want to say hi."

"I'll try to prepare him."

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. "Probably smart. I'll call around seven thirty or eight so I can say goodnight."

"Okay."

Beside me, I can see Eric mocking me, batting his eyes and holding up his hand like he's talking on the phone. "My brother's being a jackass, so I have to hang up and beat the crap out of him now."

"Okay."

"I'll talk to you tonight."

"Yeah. Listen, if…" He sighs. "Nothing. Just…I love you."

I bite my lip in order to keep from breaking into a smile and being ridiculed. "I know."

* * *

><p>We have dinner at a little restaurant in the hotel, and Maggie goes to bed once she's gotten to talk to Joe, since she didn't sleep on the bus. I'm sharing a room with her, so Eric and I hang out in his room, watching a movie and talking, and it's sort of nice, because we never really did that as kids, stayed up late watching movies while our mom slept, partly because of the age gap, but mostly because Maggie was, well, Maggie. We didn't have a lot of opportunities to act like kids, at least not at the same time.<p>

Eric dozes off before the end of the movie, and as I'm turning off the light and setting the alarm on his phone, he thanks me, and I don't know why, but I almost start crying right there. I guess maybe given everything that happened the last time I saw him and the fact that taking care of him when I was younger was a constant reminder of how afraid I was of turning into Maggie someday, and the fact that now, I've finally gotten past it and I have Joe - it's kind of surreal, the fact that things are finally okay.

Maggie is uncharacteristically quiet the next morning, and I can tell from the look on Eric's face that he's as freaked out by it as I am. I don't think I've ever known her to be quiet when she's not depressive, and given that she's showered and dressed and eating, not to mention that I saw her take her meds last night, I don't think that's why. As we're leaving for the church, she squeezes my arm and says she's glad I'm here, in spite of everything.

I guess maybe it's that the majority of the memories I have of them together are of them fighting, or the fact that I can still hear Maggie screaming at me after she found out that I'd gone to see him, but it never actually occurred to me that she might actually be affected by his death. I just sort of assumed that it was all about her wanting us to say goodbye, but I think maybe I forgot about the fact that as much as she hated him, she used to love him. And I can kind of imagine that if Richard died, despite all the pain and anger and lying that characterized most of our marriage, I'd be upset. I don't even know if I was capable of loving anything back then, but at the very least, I believed I was in love with him, and there were a few good moments in there along with all the bad ones.

It's not until after the service, as we're walking to the gravesite that it hits me like an oncoming train - not just the realization that I loved my father once upon a time or that there were good moments, there, too, but that there really is no fixing the things he broke by leaving. I don't think it was ever really going to happen, but at least when he was alive, there was still that sliver of latent hope, however unrealistic, that somehow he could undo it. Explain why he did it in some way that could finally wipe out all those insecurities and all that anger.

And that it would somehow be the magic solution that would undo all the bad things that followed - the failed relationships, the abortion, Eric's disease, Maggie's suicide attempts.

My alcoholism.

I guess somehow there was a small part of me that hoped by fixing that, the original sin or whatever, that I would stop having to live with that fear that I could go back to it and lose everything I've worked for. Not that all those things were entirely his fault, but I finally do understand the impact his leaving had, how much it played into those things.

"I can't." I stop walking all of a sudden, and Maggie and Eric both look at me.

"Abby - " Maggie lays a hand on my shoulder.

I shrug it off. "Don't. I can't…I need a few minutes. I'll meet you there."

"Abby," she says again.

"I need a few minutes by myself. Please just…go. I'm fine, I just…"

"Okay." Maggie actually seems to get it, for once. "We'll save you a seat."

"Great." I glance around and start walking in the opposite direction of everyone else, and my hands are shaking as I dial.

"Abby?"

"Hi," I breathe.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. No. Not really." I lean up against a massive tree and wonder what the hell I was thinking when I quit smoking again. "I just…needed to talk to somebody. A friendly voice."

"I'm happy to talk to you, Abby, but if this is - "

"It's not a sponsor thing."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry, if this is - "

"Abby, it's fine. I just wanted to make sure."

"Okay. Thanks."

Janet clears her throat. "So, do you want to talk about it, or do you just want to…talk?"

"Probably the second one. I don't know. I just - you were the first person I thought of."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Yeah, I know I probably should've called Luka, but I'm in Texas and he's worrying like crazy and if I called him freaking out like this, he'd freak out too and probably jump on a plane."

"You're in Texas?"

"Yeah. Kind of a…family thing."

"Your mom?"

"My dad, actually. I'm here for the funeral."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I guess…I just have no idea how to feel, except it just kind of hit me that all of my shit related to him is never going to get resolved. Not that it would have if I'd talked to him face to face, it just…I don't know."

"I get it. I used to have that same thought. If only you could go back and change one thing, everything would be different."

"Yeah."

Janet sighs. "But we both know it doesn't work like that. You can't unring a bell."

The last time I heard that phrase was the day Luka came home. I'd have given anything to undo what I did. "No. I know you can't."

"I used to think about it, too. How, if I could go back and change things, everything would be better. Except I realized if I did that, I might not have ended up where I am now. I've got two kids I love, even if they do drive me up the wall, I've got my own practice, I have good friends, and I'm sober. And I haven't killed the fish in my office yet."

I breathe out slowly. "You're right. I know you're right. It just…"

"Sucks."

"Yeah."

"I know."

"I should go. I said I'd only be a couple of minutes."

"You're okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks. I just - old habits die hard, I guess. I haven't really freaked out like this since I got a different sponsor."

"Well, I'm always here. Even if it's not as your sponsor."

"Thanks. And, you know - me too. Unless you want advice about fish. Humans are the only ones I know how to keep alive."

"Well, there's not a big demand for fish doctors, so I think you're okay."

"Probably. Thanks. Again. I - really…"

"I know, and you're welcome."

We hang up and I take a couple more deep breaths before walking back to the gravesite. Maggie gives me a little wave, in case the fact that Eric is about nine feet taller than everyone isn't enough to pick them out, and I take my seat. I don't know if she picked a seat on the aisle by chance or if it's in case I need to take off again. I'm kind of guessing the latter.

The priest starts speaking, and it occurs to me that it's easier for me to listen to Catholic sermons than it used to be. Not because I've become more religious - because I definitely haven't - but because what strikes me isn't the hypocrisy or the flawed reasoning anymore. It just reminds me of Luka. Of his faith, of how incredible I find his ability to hold onto the best parts of his religion, the compassion and the desire to help people, and let go of the vengeance and the fear that makes religion so undesirable to me. I don't quite understand it, because I've seen a lot of people go through trauma and tragedy and cling to their religion in a way that just makes them angry and hateful, but Luka's not like that. I know he's struggled with his faith, but I also know that he's held onto that sense of moral responsibility even when things have been bad. He's not a saint or anything, and I know he still struggles with the whole forgiveness thing, but for all his flaws, I look at him and have to think that's how religion is supposed to work.

I still find myself trying not to roll my eyes when the priest starts in on the absolution bit. There are three women sitting in the front row, and I know from the church service and from Maggie that they're my stepsisters. Technically, at least. Looking at them, it doesn't feel like they're family. It mostly feels like I want to scream, because I don't care if he was a good stepfather to them. It doesn't make up for what he did to me and Eric and Maggie.

Just like I'm never going to be able to erase cheating on Luka or putting Joe in the car when I was drunk, no matter how long I stay sober or how good a wife and mother I try to be. You can't unring a bell and you sure as shit can't unleave a family.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure they want us there?" Eric looks back at Maggie from the front seat and I can feel how uncomfortable he is. Or maybe it's just that I feel my own discomfort enough for two people.<p>

"They invited us, Eric. I told them we'd come by."

"They invited us?" I turn in my seat and stare at her. "When?"

"When they invited us to the funeral," Maggie replies, looking back at me with an annoyed expression. "You don't really think I decided to just show up here, do you?"

I glance at Eric, and he raises his eyebrows a little bit, indicating that, yes, actually, we both assumed that was what happened, because it's Maggie, for Christ's sake.

Apparently she picks up on our unspoken answer. "How do you think I found out he'd died, Abby?"

"I…didn't really think about it."

"I figured his ghost stopped by on the way to hell," Eric mumbles, just loud enough for me to hear. I have to stop myself from laughing.

"I've been in touch with Annabeth for almost a year. Your father made sure she knew to call if anything happened."

"_Annabeth_?"

"Yes, _Annabeth_. They're from Texas, Abby. It's a perfectly normal name."

God. I'm being scolded by my mother for making fun of my step-sister's name. This is like some cosmic revenge for all the times when I was younger that I wished I had a normal family.

"Fine. I just wish you'd told me. I don't want to miss my flight."

"We'll stop by for half an hour to pay our respects and so you all can meet."

Eric glances back in the mirror again as he starts the car. "Did you just say 'you all'? We've been in Texas for a day, Mom."

Nobody says anything else as we drive, except for a few murmured sarcastic remarks from Eric to me as we drive. I almost lose my composure when we pull up and Eric mutters that he wishes he'd known to bring his linen suit and a mint julep.

The place really does look like a plantation house out of _Gone With the Wind._

Maggie navigates almost like she's been here before and it's incredibly strange, although not nearly as strange as when she walks up to my tiny, blonde stepsister and gives her a hug. "Abby, Eric, this is Annabeth."

"Oh, I'm so grateful you could be here," Annabeth says in a ridiculously high-pitched Southern twang. "Eric, I'm glad to meet you. Daddy was so happy to have gotten to talk to you."

_Daddy?_ What the fuck?

Eric sort of glances at me like he's exactly as creeped out by all this as I am and bends down about eleven feet to hug Annabeth. She turns to me and it's hard to know if it's just that I'm looking straight at her for the first time or if it's just for me, but there's a sort of coldness in her eyes that takes me a second to realize is probably related to my refusal to speak to Eddie. "Abby. I'm glad to finally meet you. Daddy would be so touched to know you came."

"Oh, um, I - " She gives me a stiff hug and I swear I can feel the dislike pouring from her. "Thanks for having us."

"Of course," she drawls. "Let me find Deliah, she'll want to meet you, too."

As soon as she disappears into the crowd, I turn to Maggie. "What the fuck was that?"

"Abby - "

"No, seriously, _Daddy?_"

"Eddie married their mother when they were little. They grew up with him."

"Well, that's fantastic, I'm glad he was able to reconcile his guilt over bailing on us by adopting Tinkerbell. Are you sure she went off to find her sister, or is she finding a knife to stab me with?"

"She's upset, Abby. I know he wasn't much of a parent to you, but Eddie was her father."

"I got that, thanks. You could have warned me about my evil stepsisters before I left Joe to come here."

"She's not evil, Abby, she's hurt."

"And now she wants to hurt me."

"Maybe she does, but she'll get past that. Try to get to know her a little. She's very sweet."

"So is antifreeze."

Annabeth comes back with a more normal-sized but just as blonde woman, and if I thought Annabeth was looking at me coldly, that was summer in Chicago compared to the look Deliah gives me. "Abby. So nice of you to take the time to pay your respects."

It takes everything I have to keep acting like an adult and keep the smile on my face like I don't want to take off my high heel and beat her over the head with it. She gives Eric a tepid hug and one to Maggie, and the whole time I swear her eyes never leave mine and I can almost see "fuck you" written across her forehead.

Annabeth asks if we'd like anything to drink and gestures to the living room, where there are a couple of buffet tables about to collapse under enough food to feed every last starving child in Africa and maybe part of India, too. As soon as I have the chance, I head for a side door that looks like it leads to some sort of outdoors and don't even acknowledge Maggie when she calls my name and asks where I'm going.

I find a pair of enormous, white Adirondack chairs and sink into one of them and let out a long breath. I'm not even sure how long it was I was holding it in.

I need Luka to be here and to just wrap his arms around me. To kiss my head and make a couple of bad jokes with some sexual innuendo thrown in. I don't know if I can survive another eight hours without him.

"You're Abby, right?" I open my eyes to see a woman holding a cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. I recognize her sunglasses from the funeral. I spent most of the service coveting them. "Rosemary."

"It's nice to meet you."

She gives a little laugh and sits down in a chair beside me. "No it isn't."

I stare at her a little blankly and wonder how many glasses of wine she's already had. "I'm sorry?"

"I get it. You don't have to put up a pretense for my benefit."

"A pretense?"

"The fucker abandoned you." I watch her as she lets her high heels fall to the grass and tucks her feet up beside her. "Don't worry. I get it. Mine did, too. I wouldn't want to meet the kids he ditched me for, either." She takes a drag of her cigarette. "Sorry, I don't have much of a filter right now. I'm not big on crowds, so one of my sisters gave me a pill."

"If it was a painkiller, you probably don't want to be drinking that." I nod to her wine.

She smiles a little and tips her glass in my direction. "It's fine, I've got a doctor for a step-sister."

I don't say anything. I'm torn between staying out here and going back inside. I really should've worn sneakers in case I needed to make a break for it.

"I'm not a bitch, by the way. In case you were thinking I was here just for that. It's the blonde ones you have to worry about." She leans back in her chair a little. "Different dads. Our mother test-drove a lot of husbands before settling on Eddie. I came from the original. Those two are the product of idiot number three."

"I see."

"Probably why they latched on to Eddie. Don't get me wrong, I liked him as stepdads go. A hell of a lot better than numbers two through four." She waves her cigarette in my direction. "Guilt or something, I guess. Wanted to be a good stepdad since he'd been a shitty father to you guys, right?"

"I…I don't really know. I'm glad he did a better job as a stepdad."

"I told you, you don't have to do that. I get where you're coming from. I don't blame you for not wanting to reconnect. He screwed you over. God, I'm talking a lot. I don't do that most of the time."

"Do you want me to get you a glass of water? Or maybe something to eat?"

"You're nice." She takes another drag. "I bet we'd have got along. Better than I got along with those two in there. I love them and all, but they really are a couple of bitches. No, don't worry about it, I'm fine."

"Okay."

"The real tall guy, he's your brother?"

"Yeah. Eric."

"Must be nice. Having a brother, I mean. I always wanted one."

I force a smile. "We don't see each other much. He lives in Michigan with our mother."

"Oh, see, you missed it. That was supposed to be the part of the movie where you say you always wanted a sister and we cut to a montage of us becoming best friends."

"I'm sorry?"

She laughs and waves a hand. "I'm screwing with you."

"I see. As sisters do."

She grins. "See? There you go, you got it. Shit, he probably had this all laid out in his head, how his death brings us together. Although he probably saw some scene where the other two come out and we all cry and hug, and he's absolved of everything."

"Well, you never know, I guess we could see if there are any more of those pills." I manage a little smirk.

"I knew we'd get along." She closes her eyes and takes another drag of her cigarette before stubbing it out. "He treated me different than my sisters. I guess part because I was older and I didn't think of him as my dad like they did. When I found out about you, saw your picture, it made sense. Same age, same color hair." Her eyes are still closed, and she twirls the stem of her wine glass in the air. "Couple of times, he called me by your name."

I don't know what to say to that, let alone what to think. After a couple minutes of dead silence, Maggie comes out and says we have to head back to the hotel if I want to make my flight. I don't think I've ever been so relieved to hear her voice.

"It was nice to meet you, Abby." Rosemary opens her eyes again and sort of stares at me, and I can't really read the expression on her face. "Sorry the movie ended so shitty."

"Yeah. Me too." I don't really know what I'm saying that about - the movie or meeting her. "You should drink some water."

"Thanks, doc."

Maggie doesn't say anything to me as we head inside, and I stand there and don't say anything as she thanks Deliah and Annabeth for having us. Annabeth makes a show of giving Maggie a hug and thanking her for being here, while Deliah just looks at me icily. "Abby." Annabeth gives me a fake smile. "Glad you could be here. I'm sure it would have meant a lot to Daddy."

I think about what Rosemary said about them latching on to Eddie. Still, it's strange to hear that word. "Yeah. Sorry we had to meet like this."

"At least we met," Deliah says, not bothering to smile. "Have a safe flight."

Eric is already waiting at the car, and raises his eyebrows when he sees me. "You guys hug?"

"No. We did not."

He just snorts softly and climbs in the drivers' seat. "Bet you wish you were drinking."

"Eric!" Maggie reaches out and smacks his shoulder. "Why would you say something like that?"

"God, sorry. It was a joke." He glances at me as we pull onto the road. "I'm right, right?" He mumbles quietly.

"Yup." I pick at my cuticle. "Could you please drive faster? I'd like to get to the airport and try to commandeer a jet so I can get out of here. Not that bonding hasn't been great."

"Least I can check 'hell' off my list of places to visit."

I think I forgot how much I missed him. Missed having someone as completely jaded by the experience of being raised by Maggie as I am and not having to worry about whether I'm coming off as a bitch.

When they drop me at the airport, Maggie gives me a long hug and tells me she's glad I came and she knows it wasn't easy for me and I don't say anything back because there's nothing to say, really. We'd both know I was lying if I said I was glad, too, and yeah, maybe Luka's right and this was better than not going at all, but right now I'm not in any kind of mood to think about the long-run. Eric gives me a hug, too, and lifts me up and I swear at him but I don't stop hugging him until he pries my arms off him again. He's smiling, though, and tells me to say hi to Luka and give Joe a hug and tell him his Uncle Eric sends a bunch of fart jokes and bad words. "You could come visit, you know," I tell him.

"This summer, maybe," he says, glancing at Maggie. I know it's not that he doesn't want to spend time with me. We both live with the constant fear of leaving Maggie alone, and neither of us are deluded enough to think I could handle both of them in my house at once. "Maybe we can round up the bitchy stepsisters for a family reunion at Disney World or something. Get matching hats and all that shit."

"Fuck off," I tell him, but it's the first real smile I've managed all day. "Take care of yourself. And…you know." I glance at Maggie. "Mom, too."

"Yeah, well, I kind of owe you one…or a hundred…after everything. Can't fuck it up now, you've got your own kid to worry about."

"I worry anyway."

"I know, you're fucking neurotic."

"I hope you get a flat someplace in Oklahoma and get stranded with Maggie and the buzzards."

"Love you, too."

* * *

><p>The flight feels like it takes eight years and by the halfway point, I'm reciting bits of the AA handbook in my head because the little vodka bottles are making that clinking sound in the cart and I swear I hear my name in there somewhere. But no, not happening, not this time. In between recitations I stare at the picture of Joe and Luka from my wallet and remind myself I'll be with them soon and that fucking things up for a superficial sense of relief is the dumbest idea in the universe, except maybe for Eric's idea about a family trip to Disney World.<p>

I know before I even get off the plane that Luka ignored me when I said I'd take a cab and for once I'm not even pretending to be annoyed that he does stuff like this because when it comes down to it, he knows what I need and even if sometimes he goes overboard, he knows I need the reassurance. I see him waiting just outside the security exit with Joe in his arms and even though it's barely been a day, I feel my heart sort of racing. He catches my eye as I head towards them and points for Joe's benefit.

I let my bag hit the tile floor with a loud smack and just reach up and grab for them both. I feel Luka's mouth pressing into my hair and his free hand wrapped around my waist tight enough at first that I almost can't breathe. When he eases up a little I almost feel disappointed. "Hi, Joe," I murmur, and he grins and gives me a sloppy kiss. I tilt my head up to look at Luka and he's grinning, too, and god, we must really look pathetic the way we're looking at each other. And I don't fucking care.

"I missed you."

"Yeah?" I try to play it cool but my voice is shaking a little. "I might've…you know…missed you a _tiny_ bit."

"Just a tiny bit?" He moves closer to me, which is hardly even possible, and probably not appropriate given the venue.

"I mean…it's not like I was losing my mind not having you beside me in bed last night or anything."

"No?"

"Come on, what do you take me for, some lame Hallmark movie wife who can't go a day without her big, strong husband?"

"I would never take you for that."

"Good. 'Cause I really just want you to take me _home_…so I can show you how I totally didn't miss you…and how I totally don't appreciate you showing up at the airport after I said I'd get a cab." I wait while he bends down to pick up my bag and when he slips an arm around my waist again, I lean into him and whisper so Joe can't hear me. "And I definitely don't want to take you right here and now in the middle of the concourse and show you how much I didn't miss you."

He runs his tongue over his lower lip. "That's funny, because I want to do all those things."

Jesus. The way he's looking at me makes all the shitty feelings that were building to a boil all day completely disappear from my conscious. "Hey, Luka?"

"Yeah?"

I brush against him lightly. "Thanks for picking me up."


	24. Sound of Silence

A/N: Kudos to "fan" on correctly guessing the alternate personalities of the three characters mentioned in the last chapter. Since I don't think naming a character "fan" would really mesh with my narrative style, there will be an alternate prize, to be revealed in a future chapter. Not this one, though, because this one's all about tones of levity and flirting and banter, with other stuff kind of subliminally jammed in the crevices. Or maybe it's not, and I just said that so readers think I have some idea of what the hell I'm doing, as opposed to getting boozy and writing whatever I feel like. Speaking of debauchery, a couple of lines in the last scene were inspired by an outtake from season 5 of "NewsRadio," one of about a hundred in which someone says something super profane and inappropriate.

Thanks so much to those who reviewed the last chapter. To those who didn't, I shall quote Abby to say, "you totally suck."

* * *

><p>"<strong>Sound of Silence"<strong>

Joe falls asleep on the drive back from the airport, and when we pull into the driveway, Luka just nods toward the door. "I'll get your bag."

He had the foresight to get Joe into his pajamas before they came to pick me up, and so I just lay Joe down and pull his blankets up over him and sit there on the edge of his bed, stroking his hair for a couple minutes. He mutters something that I don't think is a real word and squirms around a little, and it's one of those times where I'm just kind of overwhelmed by how much I love him. I remember back when I'd just found out I was pregnant, worrying aloud to Luka that I wouldn't know how to love him right, and even after I decided - or realized, really - that I wanted to have the baby, that fear stayed with me. It wasn't until I had a fetal monitor strapped to my belly and was watching him move around on the sonogram machine and hearing Luka whisper _congratulations, it's a boy_ in my ear that I stopped feeling that fear, because it hit me like an oncoming train in that moment, the extent to which I loved my child. Although I don't think it was until later, sitting by his isolette in the NICU, stroking his head with my pinkie finger, that I really felt like I could stop worrying about that. There were so many fears at that moment, whether he'd even survive, what complications there might be, but I knew not knowing how to love him wasn't one of them.

I leave Joe to sleep and go down to the kitchen, where Luka is loading the dishwasher. "You need some help?"

"No." He gives me a little smile. "I have it covered."

"Okay. I'm going to take a quick shower."

I stand there in the steam, letting the water hit the back of my neck for a few minutes, just trying to let my mind clear after today. I know at some point we'll talk about it, but right now, I just want to enjoy being home.

I open my eyes when I hear a tap on the glass, and Luka slides open the door a little. I shiver as the air rushes in. "Mind if I join you?"

It's a rhetorical question, I think, since he's already undressed and when he moves to stand behind me and wrap his arms around me, I lean my head back and smile. "You missed me."

"Yes." He kisses my shoulder and lets his hands drift down to my hips. "You missed me, too. Admit it."

I turn around and drape my arms around his shoulders. "Never."

He leans down and rests his forehead on mine for a minute before letting his mouth follow the water that's running down my face until he gets to my lips, and kisses me. I think my charade of not missing him is pretty transparent at this point since it's maybe a millisecond before my tongue is in his mouth and I slide my hands down his back, slowly, and he inhales sharply when I'm at his waist. He knows damn well where I'm headed. "Abby." He sounds like he's warning me, but I don't know what the hell for.

"I missed you," I mumble.

"I missed you, too."

"Obviously." I smile against his lips, and he makes a sort of stifled groan. "Something the matter?"

"No - yeah - just…you wanted to shower," he pants.

I look up at him. "I did." I grab the bottle of body wash from the shelf and hand it to him, still holding his gaze. "Here. Make yourself useful."

I'm expecting some teasing reply like him telling me to say please or something, but he doesn't even crack a smile, just takes the bottle and pours some into his hand. And then he's kneeling in front of me. Jesus.

Not that I'm surprised that we're doing…well, this, but I wasn't really expecting much in the way of foreplay. And here I am with him on his knees, and he's resting his head on my stomach and running his hands over my thigh and my mouth is very, very dry all of a sudden.

He's almost methodical about it, and so slow that I'm very close to threatening to kill him several times, and then he stands up and turns me around and washes my arms and my stomach just as slowly and it's clear to me that he's exercising a hell of a lot of restraint in not just taking me right up against the wall.

For which I both love and hate him, at this moment.

I'm pretty grateful that we invested in a good water heater, because by the time the soap has rinsed off and he begins putting his hands to better use, the water ought to be cold, but it's not.

Although, as he braces us both against the wall and pulls me against him, it occurs to me that the water could be freezing, and I don't think I'd notice.

"Luka," I murmur, mostly because I'm not capable of saying much else. His hands are everywhere except the one place I want them to be and I'm thinking that I really could kill him when he grasps my thigh and shifts me a little and then he's inside me. I repeat his name, less softly this time, and his response is kind of muffled by my hair, but I'm pretty sure it's my name.

After a while, it's obvious that all that self-restraint is catching up to him, and he hisses a couple of Croatian obscenities and then a few in English and there's a very good chance I'm going to have a bruise on my thigh from where his fingers are digging into me. I turn my head enough to glance at him, with every intention of telling him it's okay, that he can let go, except the look in his eyes is so intense and it's so completely apparent how much he wants me that I completely forget whatever I was going to say and come right then and there.

I'm so wrapped up in it that I don't even realize until the orgasm is fading that he's followed right along with me, and I'm not sure how it is he's still standing, because he's doing the work for both of us at this point.

I manage to regain my footing after a minute and we both stand there under the water until we catch our breath. "That was…nice," I say, as I'm reaching behind him to shut off the water.

"After three years, you still haven't come up with a better word?" He takes a towel from the door as he steps out of the shower and drapes it around me, then takes the other and wraps it around his waist.

"You keep screwing my brains out, what do you expect? A basic vocabulary's all that's left."

He reaches down to tilt my head up toward his and kisses me again. "Now you know why I forget English sometimes."

"Because I've sexed the language right out of you?"

"Yes." He blinks a few times and holds my gaze before a lopsided grin creeps over his face. "I knew I'd get you to admit it."

"That you've made me stupid?"

"That you missed me."

I walk into the bedroom and open the dresser drawer. "Things I say in the middle of sex don't count."

"You missed me."

"I missed certain aspects."

"Liar." He brushes his fingers through my wet hair. "You missed everything. Even the parts you complain about."

I glance up and down. "Which parts have I complained about?"

"Ha-ha. Just admit it."

"I have never complained about any part of you. In fact, I wrote some very nice things about certain parts of you on the ladies' room wall at County."

"You did not." He looks like he's not sure. Probably because I admitted to him that I was responsible for the rather legendary sketch in there of Romano being beaten with his own arm. Nurses' strikes do funny things to an otherwise sane person.

I shrug. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. The important thing is that if I did, they would have been quite complimentary."

"You're very sweet, you know that?" He rolls his eyes a little, but he's smiling.

"You write that on the wall in the men's room?"

"No, I wrote 'Mr. Abby Lockhart' with little hearts and smiling faces."

"Smiley faces, not smiling. Very cute." I lean against him, letting my arm drape around his waist. "Hey Luka?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I missed you."

* * *

><p>We don't talk about it for a few days. He doesn't push, and I love him for it, and for the fact that he understands that it's not that I'm shutting him out, just that I'm not ready yet. Neither of us pretend like everything's normal, either, which I think might be a milestone in our relationship, because pretending everything is normal, even if neither of us are fooled, is probably right at the top of the list of things that have screwed us up in the past.<p>

Kind of like how we got into that habit of trying to communicate through sex. And it's maybe another milestone, how instead of making love in place of talking, we've finally figured out how to do both. He's not exactly all over me, not like how it was right after we got back together, but he's on me and in me and against me more than usual those first few days back, and there's something about how slow and intense it is that's different. It's been like this maybe a handful of times - that night in Vukovar, the first time we were together after he came back home, the couple of days after the incident with Ames, after he told me he wasn't going to Darfur with Carter. Which also happened to be the night I realized I was in love with him. Not that I wasn't before, because I think it had been there for a long time and I just hadn't been ready to acknowledge it, but it was the first time I really felt it, or let myself feel it, I guess.

I think I'd been looking in the mirror and trying to decide if I actually looked pregnant or just like I'd been hitting the pizza a little too hard, and he came in and asked me if I was cold.

"_What?"_

_He nods to my chest, and I wrap my arms around myself and frown. "I can't help it. And I can't find a bra that fits, so just – "_

"_Hey." He takes my hand and pulls me towards him, and slides one hand under the admittedly very thin tank top I'm wearing, on my lower back, and the other sort of splays across my neck and cheek, stroking my skin. "I didn't mean to be critical. I'm not – I was just…noticing."_

_I don't say anything, just kind of sigh._

"_You're beautiful, Abby." It's not the first time he's said it to me, but for some reason, there's this…I don't know. Energy, I guess. The way he says it is, something about it just shoots up my spine and I shiver and it complicates the situation even more. He just smiles down at me, and backs up a few steps until he's sitting on the edge of the bed, and kind of awkwardly pulls me down so I'm sitting as best I'm can on his lap. He drops his head a little and I feel his breath on my shoulder. "You're stunning."_

_I make this noise that's sort of a hybrid between a squeak and a gasp, and he leans his head further down and braces his hands against my back and I lean back into them. I feel his mouth on my breast and I can't be sure but I think I stop breathing. He twists around and I half-fall, half-lie back on the bed, and he pulls my shirt over my head and crouches over me, and his eyes are staring straight at me with this intensity I can't explain except that I know he means what he said and for the first time, I kind of believe it. It's just something about that look, and he holds my eyes for at least a few minutes and then very slowly and softly works his way down my neck and across my chest and then lower, and we've certainly had sex since I got pregnant, but he hasn't done…well, this, and between the way he's touching me and the way he holds one of my hands in his and the way he keeps pausing to whisper my name, I think I completely lose the ability to make noise, and tears start running down the sides of my face and then I just – I don't know. It's indescribable, and I'm not sure Luka is expecting it either, but it's sort of this perfect storm of sensation and situation and I think something just sort of breaks open inside of me when I come. It's not until I've come down from the high and Luka is curled up next to me, stroking my arm, and I realize that it's not the sex, or the pregnancy, it's that I'm happy in a way I haven't been my entire life. _

It just kind of hit me at that moment, lying there with him, that I was in love with him. I don't remember if the words even registered in my mind, but I remember the sort of warm ache washing over me, because I loved him so much it hurt, and I don't think I'd felt that before. I think maybe having to consider the prospect of doing it without him - not just the pregnancy, but all of it, waking up without him, going to work without him - made me realize how badly I wanted him there with me and how much I needed him.

* * *

><p>We're cleaning up the kitchen after Joe's asleep, a couple days after I get home, and out of nowhere I hear myself telling him that I have three stepsisters.<p>

He turns around, looking completely confused. "What?"

"I have three stepsisters. I met them this weekend." I sweep the crumbs from the table into my hand and go to dump them into the trash. "Two incredibly bitchy blondes who hate me and another one who my dad used to mix up with me, apparently."

His eyebrows are furrowed, like he's not sure if there's a subtext, and he's still holding the plate he took out of the dishwasher. "I didn't know you had…you know…"

"He - Eddie - mentioned he had three stepdaughters when he came into the ER that time. I never actually put the pieces together. Plus, I mean, he lied about who he was, so I didn't know if any of it was true."

"Wow."

"Yeah." I move beside him to wash my hands. "Just think, this opens up a whole new category of fantasies you can have about me."

"Huh?" He finally puts the plate in the cupboard.

"Sisters. Don't guys love that stuff?"

"Oh. I guess - maybe. I don't really…I'm don't need to think about other women than you."

I fight a smile as I dry my hands and move to help him with the dishes. "I was just joking."

He nods a little. "Why do you think they hate you?"

"Because they made it clear that they do. I guess Eddie married their mom when they were little, so they grew up with him. I'm pretty sure they think he's a saint and my refusing to see him or talk to him makes me the devil."

"Oh." He glances sideways at me. "And the other one?"

"Well, she was high when I met her, so I didn't get a chance to form much of an opinion."

"She was _high_?"

"She'd taken something - either a painkiller or anti-anxiety, I couldn't tell - with a couple glasses of wine, so she was pretty, uh…relaxed."

"I see."

"She doesn't really look like me, but she's the right age and she's a brunette, so I guess that was enough for Eddie to mix us up now and then." I shrug and lean back against the counter. "I didn't really know what to make of her. She was kind of…I don't know. I think maybe if the situation hadn't been so incredibly weird, I might've liked her. Or at least, I'd have liked the version of her that resulted from mixing wine and pills. She might be a huge bitch like her sisters when she's not on anything."

Luka closes the dishwasher and wipes his hands on a towel before nodding his head in the direction of the stairs. I reach over and turn off the kitchen light. "You think you'll keep in touch with them? At least the one you might have liked?"

"Rosemary. That was the stoned one. The blondes who hate me are Deliah and Annabeth." I peek into Joe's room, and the sound of his heavy breathing assures me that he's out cold. "Probably not," I tell Luka, once we're in our bedroom. "It's not like they're really family. They're just…these people that Eddie lived with."

"They're still family," he says softly.

I sink onto the bed, letting my feet rest on the floor as I lay back. "They're not, though. It's like…I don't have a good example. But they're strangers. Eddie was completely removed from my life by the time he…_embedded_ himself into that family. He's the only link between us, and he was a completely different person with them."

I see Luka hovering over me as he stands beside the bed, and I have to say, it's a nice angle from which to watch him take off his shirt. "I'm a completely different person with you and Joe than I was…before. It doesn't mean that if Jasna and Marko were here, they wouldn't be a part of Joe's life."

"That's not the same thing and you know it." I sit up. "You were their father, you were there with them for…until…" I can't say it, and I think he knows that, because he just nods a little. "And you're Joe's father. You didn't meet him when he was already walking and talking and going to school, and you hadn't left your other kids to be with us. It was fifteen years, Luka. And I know damn well that you would have given anything to see them again."

He sits beside me. "I didn't mean it was the same thing. I know it's not." I feel his hand grasp mine and he laces our fingers together. "I meant I was a different person when I was their father than I am now. I grew up. I changed."

"No." I lean against him. "You were a good father to them, and you're a good father to Joe. You didn't bail on them." I glance up at him, and I can see it there, in his eyes, the objection. "You didn't. Don't even try to argue with me, because I know you and I know everything you've told me and how much you love them, so don't."

He swallows, and I think he's a little stunned. I've never really done that before now, flat-out told off his guilt like that. After a minute he leans down and presses his mouth against my forehead. I tilt my head back until my lips are lined up with his and he kisses me very gently, and I can feel his breath and somehow know that hearing that was something he needed. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for stating the obvious, Luka."

"I know I don't."

"Okay." We sit quietly for a few minutes, and then I get up and go to pull a pair of pajama pants from the drawer. "I know you're trying to help. It's just…"

"They're strangers," he says quietly.

"Yes."

"Can I - I'm not trying to make you upset, I just - "

"It's okay." I pull a shirt from the drawer. His drawer. I like wearing his shirts to bed. They smell like him.

"It's just…you haven't really ever had the chance to…uh, to have a family. Not like I did. And I - I know it's weird for you, I just think…having that…it feels good."

Huh. Definitely not what I was expecting to hear. I chew my lip. "I have you and Joe, don't I?"

He stands up and takes his shirt from me, setting it on the dresser. "You do. Always. But what I had growing up - aunts and uncles and cousins and people I didn't know how I was related to who just showed up sometimes - it was nice."

"I'm not like that, though. I'm - I _like_ being just us. I can't handle that kind of…chaos."

"The hell you can't. You were an ER nurse."

I smile a little. "Doesn't mean I wanted to bring it home with me."

His fingers curl under the edge of my shirt and he raises it inch by inch until I have to move my arms to let him pull it off me. "I'm not saying we have to move to a two-family home and share with your step-sisters."

"If you were suggesting that, do you really think I'd be letting you undress me?"

"Uh…probably not." He reaches around my back to unhook my bra.

"I know it's a part of who you are, Luka. I'm just not sure it's a part of who I am. And even if it is, I'm not sure I want to have Eddie's replacement family over for Christmas dinner." I pick up the shirt he tossed aside and hand it to him. "Here. Finish what you started."

"I don't think you understand what I was trying to start." He looks down at me with a glint in his eye.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I know exactly where you were going with that."

"So…"

I just look up at him and hold out my hand.

He breathes out in a huff and hands me the shirt, and I can't tell if he's actually annoyed or just playing around. "So I don't get anything for being loving and supportive?"

I narrow my eyes and look up at him. "Odjebi."

"I'd like it better if you'd do it for me." He grins.

I manage to hold my composure for about two seconds. "Shut up."

"I'd rather you do that for - "

I reach up and pull his head down to mine and raise myself up on my toes to kiss him. His arms tighten around me, and for a second, he's holding me off the ground. When he puts me back down, I shrug. "Just following instructions."

"You never do that," he murmurs. His arms are still wrapped around me and his voice is muffled by my hair.

"I like to keep you guessing."

"Mmhmm."

We stand like that for a minute, not moving. After a minute, I smile and press my nose against his sternum. "You really don't think about other women?"

"What?" His grip on me loosens.

"Before, you said you didn't have to think about other women. I just…I don't know. I'm just asking. It's not like I'd be offended, I know guys like - "

"Like what?" He stands back a little and looks down at me.

I shrug. "I don't know. Different stuff. Isn't that kind of why guys in relationships watch porn?"

"I don't watch porn."

I let out a little laugh. "Right."

"I don't. I - why would you think I do?"

"Because…because guys…men…watch porn. It's not like I think any less of you."

"I really don't watch it, Abby. I - have men you were with before…?"

"Well…yeah."

"Well, then they were idiots." He eyes me as I strip off my slacks and I can feel goosebumps forming on my arms. "You're - nothing's ever going to be better than you, Abby. Even if you weren't beautiful, I don't think I'd…" He shrugs a little. "I want you. Just you." He reaches out and runs his fingers over my shoulder. "Not that I mind that you're beautiful."

I'm pretty sure I'm blushing hard enough to match my maroon pajama pants. "You really want to get laid tonight, don't you?"

He rolls his eyes a little and moves closer to me. "I'm not telling you this to get you to sleep with me. I don't - do you not believe me?"

"I…do."

"You sound like when I ask Joe if he picked up his toys."

"I…okay, I don't know. I guess it's just…I believe that you're attracted to me, I just - I know you're different from men I've been with before. For one thing, you're not an asshole. I just don't…I don't - "

"You were the first woman I was with in ten years, Abby. I hadn't felt….I wasn't even sure I was capable of being attracted to somebody like that anymore. It's not like I didn't like you as a person, but I don't think we'd have gone very far that night if you weren't….if I just liked your personality." He looks down at me and the corner of his mouth turns up a little. "The fact that I ended up marrying you and having a baby…that's more - _so_ much more - than I thought I'd have. I don't want something besides this. You."

My voice comes out a little uneven and I'm still blushing like crazy. "I, um…that's…"

"Nice?"

I bite my lip and look up at him. "Yeah. It is"

* * *

><p>"Hey. I was starting to think they'd locked you in the OR."<p>

"Practically. I barely know what the sun looks like anymore." I can hear Neela yawn.

"I'll get Joe to draw you a picture."

She laughs. "Could you have him draw me one of my bed, as well? I'm not sure I'd recognize it either."

"If you don't mind it being an abstract, sure. I'll give him a list. You can figure out which one's which." I hold the phone between my shoulder and ear and start shoving clothes into the washer. "So, you book your ticket?"

"To where?"

"Guam, where do you think?"

She groans. "I know. No, not yet. I'm waiting to schedule the movers."

"Are you just, like, trying really hard to make me look proactive in comparison? Because you're doing a great job."

"That's absolutely what I'm doing."

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, so maybe I've been procrastinating a bit."

"You're moving in what, two weeks? Have you put in your notice, at least?"

"I…I've been trying to draft my resignation letter."

"You don't need a resignation letter. You need to pull Dubenko aside for six seconds so you can tell him, 'Hey, I'm moving to the bayou to finally shack up with this guy I've been pretending I'm not totally in love with for three years.' It doesn't need to be written on parchment."

"We're not 'shacking up.' I've already found a place of my own."

"Uh-huh. And did you fill out an application?"

"Well…"

"Seriously?"

"Ray filled it out for me."

"You're pathetic. And I'm calling Ray to tell him to schedule your movers, book your flight, and resign for you. I might also tell him you love him so you don't have to."

"That's not funny."

"Neither is waiting for you to get around to it."

"That's - you waited until Joe was a toddler before you married Luka!"

"That's different, I'm totally screwed up. You're just…I don't even know what you are. Book your stupid plane ticket."

"I will."

I shut the lid of the washer and head back downstairs to check on Joe and the play group. Leaving them alone for three minutes is always a risk. Not a risk to their safety, really, as much as a risk that someone will break or color on something. "Look. I get that it's scary. But you've been doing this for three years and you aren't over him so you're really only left with seeing if it'll work. If it does, great, and if it doesn't, at least you know. You're just torturing yourself at this point. And I'm guessing he's not having a lot of fun waiting around, either."

"I know. And I do want to go."

"So go."

I hear her sigh and a thump that I'm guessing is her shoving a bunch of stuff off the couch so she has a place to sit, based on my experience living with her. "You're awfully wise for someone who's screwed up about all this."

"Yeah, well, I already did all the stupid things in the book. Turns out, it's actually a lot more fun when you stop sabotaging everything. Who knew?"

"I think you should write that on a greeting card."

"I was going to needlepoint it on a pillow."

"That sounds lovely."

Joe and company are still where I left them, surrounded by a pile of Hotwheels cars and plastic animals. I feel a little bad that Isabella is the only girl most of the time, but she never seems to mind. I can't stop myself from smiling as Sebastian - the one who's a royal pain-in-the-ass - grabs a car from her, and without missing a beat, she snatches it out of his hand and glares at him.

You've got to love a little girl who's learned not to take any shit from boys before she's even turned three.

"Listen." I lean against the kitchen counter, just out of range of little ears. You never quite know when they're old enough to eavesdrop, or even to understand the conversation, but after that time Joe, Isabella, and Owen hijacked a call to work and serenaded several department heads, I learned my lesson.

"I know this is the pot calling the kettle a commitment-phobe, but you've just got to stop being afraid of what might happen so that _something_ can happen. If I'd figured that out sooner, I - well, I don't actually know what would've happened. For the sake of argument, let's say I'd be exactly where I am now, but five years younger."

"I just worry." She sighs again. "Everything with Michael was so - we never really got the chance to date or to be husband and wife. Sometimes I'm not even sure…" She trails off, but I know what she means. She's not sure she really loved him. "We were never in a relationship."

"I know."

"With Ray, it's just - I'm not sure how we're supposed to handle things. Are we supposed to date? I just can't imagine what that would be like."

"Luka and I didn't date. The second time, I mean." Although, come to think of it, we never really dated the first time, after that one night. I think everything that happened on that first date, or what there was of it, threw us both off too much to recover. Things got too intense too fast, and we never managed to get to know each other. "I think being friends for so long might actually be a good thing. You get to skip a lot of the awkward stuff."

"It seems like it would be just as awkward this way."

"So you both laugh about it. It'll be a little weird at first, and then…hopefully…you'll be comfortable together."

"What if we're not, though?"

I roll my eyes. Talking to her reminds me of conversations with Joe, except I can't say "because I said so" to end a conversation with Neela. "Then you laugh about it anyway and stay friends. And he has a good story for his best man toast at your wedding."

"That's - "

"I'm kidding. Sort of. But seriously, you have to try. You've already tried _not_ being together, and it didn't work out very well. And you both annoyed the hell out of everyone while you were doing it. Or not doing it, so to speak. If you don't give it a shot, you'll both regret it, and I'll have to stop talking to you because I'm not going to be the best friend in a John Hughes movie."

"John Hughes?"

"Oh my god. You and Luka. I'm going to make you two start a book club, except with movies. You know he's seen _Titanic_ four times but he's never seen _The Graduate_?"

"I've never seen it, either."

"Oh my _god._" I lower my voice. "How am I friends with you?"

"I'm very well-read."

"Yeah, hearing you say that makes me not like you. Give me your new address. I'm sending you a copy of _The Graduate_ and the entire John Hughes library as a housewarming gift. Now you and Ray have something to do on your first date."

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

"We're in here."

I head into the living room and toss my coat and bag on the sofa. "Well, I see you two have had a productive evening."

Joe grins up at me from amidst a pile of Legos. "We made a sky straper."

"You mean a skyscraper?" I take off my shoes and sit down on the floor with them. Joe nods absently as he paws through the Lego pieces. "Is that the Sears Tower?"

"Nope." Luka adds another block to the top. "Kovač Tower."

"You live here." Joe points to a blue block.

"I must have gotten a pretty incredible raise to afford a high-rise apartment."

Luka reaches over and brushes his hand across my knee. "Special price for you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You've got a deal going with one of the owners."

I pick up a block. "So when's my rent due?"

Luka cocks his head to one side. "Time for bed, Joe."

Joe glares at us both. "No."

"Yup. I said you could stay up until Mama came home."

"Is not my bed time when Mama comes home." Joe fumbles with a block.

I help him push the piece in. "I had to work late tonight. So I came home later than I usually do. And now it is your bed time." I emphasize the "it is" part. I'm starting to think he's actually gotten the hang of sentence structure and just leaves out pronouns as an act of defiance. I mean, yeah, he's two and a half, but he's my kid, so it's not like it's out of the realm of possibility.

"Is not my bed time."

"It is. You have to get your sleep tonight because you have lots of things to do tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Joe glances at me dubiously.

"Yup." Luka starts scooping Legos back into a plastic bin. "Tomorrow, you and Owen and…" He pauses and looks at me. "What's her name? The evil blonde one?"

"Lily. And she's actually not all that evil anymore. I think they had an exorcism or something."

"Right." He turns back to Joe, "Tomorrow you're all going on a trip to the big slide."

Joe's eyes widen. I nudge Luka a little. "I bet if you get into your pajamas and go to sleep very fast, then when you wake up, it will be almost time to go play on the slide."

It takes Joe about thirty seconds to get upstairs. The place with the big slide is basically utopia for toddlers. It's a complete hellscape for any sane adult, but as long as someone else is taking him, I don't mind using it as bait. By the time I get to his room, he's struggling to get his pajama pants on over his head.

"Here, how about I help you? I think it'll probably be easier if we take your shirt off first."

"I have to go to sleep now," he tells me impatiently.

"Hold up your arms, please." I kneel down. "We'll do this as fast as we can, I promise." I help him change and brush his teeth and then ask if he wants to read a book.

"No. I have to sleep now please."

"Okay, then here, let's tuck you in." I lean over to kiss his head and smooth the covers over him.

"I am sleeping," he informs me seriously. I manage to hold off laughing until I'm out of his room.

"He's trying very hard to be asleep," I tell Luka when I get back downstairs.

"Think it'll work?"

I pick up my jacket and shoes. "Right, because we're that lucky. He's all wound up about tomorrow. He's going to get up in ten minutes, crying because he can't fall asleep."

"Just like you every Sunday."

"Shut up." I hang my coat in the hall and turn around to find him right behind me. "I'm liking this play group thing."

"When are we going to have to pay for this, by the way?"

I smirk. "You mean when are you going to have to deal with three toddlers so that the other parents get a night off?"

"You're not going to help at all?"

"I do it every Thursday. You're on your own."

He looks down at me for a moment and then slips his arm around my waist. "How about if I'm very, very nice to you?"

"I don't know. I kind of think you should have a better appreciation of what I put up with every week."

"How about if I'm very nice and then I show you how appreciative I am?"

"I…might be persuaded to help."

"I could start persuading you now." His hand slides down my back a little and he pulls me against him. "If you like."

I lean my head against his chest. "Much as I'm sure I would like it, I really need to eat something soon." I feel his fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. "And I'm not saying that euphemistically. I'm starving."

"Fine," he sighs. "I still get points for being nice if I cook you something, right?"

"You _always_ get points for that."

"Even if I make you something from that health food book Dubenko got us as a wedding present?"

"I thought I burned that. No. Then you lose points and I invite all the other parents to bring their children and feed them lots of sugar beforehand."

He stares down at me. "You wouldn't do that. You love me too much."

"You try feeding me spelt pasta with kale and we'll find out."

"Maybe I'll just make you grilled cheese. With a side of ice cream." He pulls me toward the kitchen.

"I think that's a very wise decision." I hoist myself onto the counter beside the oven as he pulls bread and cheese from the fridge. "Although I don't know about the ice cream."

"You don't want ice cream?" He gives me a look of mock disbelief.

"I didn't say that. It's just that…something might've happened to, you know, the rest of the carton last night after you went to sleep."

He sets the ingredients down and moves to stand in front of me, gripping my thighs lightly. "Yeah, I noticed that."

"I think it was the cat from next door. We really need to do something about that."

"Right." He smirks a little. "Lucky for you, I went to the store and replaced what the cat stole."

I bite my lip and slide my hand up his arm, very slowly. "If I wasn't so hungry, I would do you right here, right now, just for that."

"Why do you think I bought the ice cream?" He raises his eyebrows a little before moving back to the oven and setting down a frying pan. "Not to change the subject from you performing sexual favors in exchange for ice cream - "

"Shut up."

" - but I wanted to ask you something."

"No, I will not take you to Six Flags for your birthday."

"Ha-ha." He reaches out and squeezes my knee. "I wanted to ask if you would be willing to teach a class in a few weeks."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're a good doctor, for one thing. And for the other, my male students aren't very attentive when I teach it."

"No offense, but I don't think your female students are as attentive as you think they are. It's not technically attention when they're imagining you with your clothes off."

He ignores me, as usual. I can't decide if he thinks I'm exaggerating or if it's a humility thing, but either way, I don't really plan to stop reminding him. It's kind of fun. "I heard some of the nurses this morning complaining about how the med students treat them. I thought maybe it would be good if my students could understand what nurses do a little better, so that maybe…you know."

"They wouldn't be complete pricks?"

"Yeah." He shrugs. "I thought since you're a doctor, and you used to be a nurse, maybe they would listen to you."

"Are you also going to teach a follow-up class on how to pick up nurses?"

"Hey. You kissed me. And the second time, you were a doctor."

"Just admit you have a nurse fetish."

"Abby." He rolls his eyes. "Come on. I'm just asking if you would be comfortable doing this."

I'm tempted to deflect with another innuendo, but I manage to resist. I sigh a little. "Can I think about it for a couple days? I…honestly, I don't have a lot of experience. I don't know if I could teach a class."

"You've taught lots of med students."

"That was hands-on. I don't know how to lecture."

I watch as he flips my sandwich over in the pan. "You can think about it, of course. But…I think you'd be good, for what that's worth. You just…there's not a lot of people who can talk about being a nurse and being a doctor. You can. And I think it's important for students to hear about that."

"Thank you," I murmur. He just smiles a little, and reaches over to squeeze my knee again. "I will think about it. But you should ask one of the nurses from the hospital, too. I mean, not instead, but it'd be good for them to hear it from somebody who doesn't have a white coat. Especially about stuff like taking a history and making a diagnosis, because nurses pick up on stuff doctors don't."

"Okay." He slides the sandwich onto a plate. "I will."

"Are you planning to tell them we're, you know…married?" He holds out the plate, and I pick up half the sandwich. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. What do you mean?"

"I mean, isn't it possible they'll be less likely to listen to me if they know I'm your wife?"

"What?"

"I'm just saying, if they think of me as Mrs. Kovač instead of Dr. Lockhart, they'll assume I'm like your assistant or something."

"Why would they think that?" He frowns.

I shrug and take a bite. He watches me while I chew, still furrowing his brow like this is the first he's heard of sexism. "Because that's how the world works, Luka. I'm not paranoid, and I'm not ashamed to be married to you or anything, it's just that they're not going to put a lot of stock into what I say if they know we're married. You don't have to believe me, but I'm right about this."

He rubs his forehead and doesn't say anything for a few minutes, just looking down at the floor. "I…then they aren't going to learn anything either way. I want them to listen to you, but I'm not going to hide the fact that you're my wife."

"Luka - "

"Hey. If you don't want to teach the class, you don't have to, but I'm not going to do that, Abby." He looks at me with an expression I can't quite read. "I respect you, whether or not you're my wife. They should, too. It's - if I didn't respect you, you wouldn't _be_ my wife."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. You think I'd be with somebody, marry somebody, I didn't respect?"

"I - " My mind flashes on Nicole, and the unease I felt at their relationship, not just because Luka and I had just broken up, but because I knew she wasn't going to make him happy, that she wasn't good enough for him. "No. I don't think you would be."

"If they think less of you because you're my wife, they can - I forget the phrase."

"Go fuck themselves?"

He chuckles. "That wasn't the one, but okay."

I gesture for him to move closer to me, and he does, and I slip my hand into his back pocket, pulling him further toward me. "Guess I'm pretty lucky I'm you're wife."

"Yeah?"

"I mean…respect _and_ ice cream? That's like…the dream. As soon as I'm done with my sandwich and have my ice cream, and then probably after I shower, if I don't fall into a sugar coma…I'm so gonna do you."

"I should tell that to my students. If you respect a woman and give her ice cream, she'll have sex with you."

"Yeah, maybe tell them that after I've left."

"You're right, I don't want them all showing up to class with Ben and Jerry's."

I punch him lightly in the shoulder. "That's not what I meant."

He laughs and leans in to take a bite of my sandwich. "I wouldn't even have to take attendance, they'd all be there. Early, probably."

"Do you want me to take back the thing about doing you?"

"No, Mrs. Kovač."

"Okay, you know what - "

"I know you're a doctor. I'm just saying, I like that you're my wife, too."

"Mmhmm."

"Really."

"I know." I lean my head back on the cabinet to look up at him. "And, you know, if we're being honest…"

"Yeah?"

"I kind of like it, too."


End file.
